The (Somewhat) Chance Encounter
by katethewriter
Summary: Random strangers seldom burst into my apartment unannounced. So when two of them do within the span of twenty minutes—one to yell at me about salty dicks and the other to apologize for the first—it catches me slightly off-guard. But I will not go as far as to say that it was a bad thing, for what transpires afterward I never would have expected. M for language/adult themes. AU/AH
1. A Special Circumstance

**Hi guys! I had a little plot bunny jumping around and couldn't resist chasing it. So I did, and this is the result. Thank you to my beta, **_**IWriteNaked. **_**She totally saved my ass when it came to proofreading this. She's got a handful of incredible and incredibly unique Mortal Instruments stories. If you haven't already I would seriously recommend checking her stuff out. Without further ado, happy reading!**

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My parents got divorced when I was eight. I don't remember too much from the time before that, but the parts that I do typically involved yelling.

It wasn't the kind of yelling that is heard through the vents of movies; it was the kind of yelling that was accompanied by tears, and things being thrown and dented walls.

It was the kind of yelling that could break through all the layers of your skin—even the tough calluses of guitarist's fingers and runner's feet—and hum through your buzzing bones.

It was the kind of yelling that would put out a wildfire with one breath of air.

The kind of yelling to silence entire oceans of galaxies.

The kind of yelling that was being done directly into my face by this raven-haired stranger who had just walked into my apartment.

Her yelling was so strange, so foreign. This apartment was so custom a place of whispers, that it was almost exhilarating to hear so many decibels resonating through the stale place. Her exclamations bounced off the walls and landed in every crevice they could.

There are many things in this world that I know, and infinitely many more that I don't, and this girl definitely falls in the latter. I guess _girl_ isn't the right word.

I mean, she looks to be in her early twenties, just like I am. But that's about where the similarities stop between us. I mean, there's the obvious fact that we both have boobs but that one doesn't really count. Her hair is stick straight and black.

Not black as in darkish brown. Her hair is as black as the starless night-sky over my old home in Brooklyn. Her hair is as black as the bags under an over-caffeinated, under-stimulated college-student's eyes. Her hair is as black as the ink on a poem that you didn't mean to write.

And her eyes are this haunting blue. They don't remind me of water, as most blue eyes do, but instead of a dark-wash denim jacket that has been washed too many times, but still continues only to get better each time you wear it.

Her skin is very nice, especially in such close proximity as to feel the breeze of her angry exhalations on my open eyes. I don't think I've shut them since she walked in. Her words are shrill, but her voice has a rich timbre. She easily stands six inches taller than me, not even counting the heels she's wearing. She could join the NBA wearing shoes like those.

I imagine this stranger in front of me playing professional basketball in seven inch heels.

It's a welcoming thought.

It finally dawns on me that whatever this intimidating woman is trying to say to me must be important, for she has screeched it into the air at least thrice now. I focus on the present and try to discern what she's saying.

"I can't believe you'd do that to him! He obviously cared about you, and you just shove some other guy's salty dick in your mouth. Really classy! Really classy, Kaelie. And then you have the audacity to come back to his apartment. What were you expecting to find here? Your relationship back? Sorry, but you have fucking ruined it. You're a piece of shit. He fucking cared about you. He fucking cared. I'm glad this is the first time we've met, so I don't have a bitch friend to be disappointed in now, too. You're a sorry waste of space."

I process the words she continues to yell. None of them make sense.

Who is Kaelie? What did I ruin? Whose dick did I have in my mouth?

Why was it so salty that she felt the need to include that detail?

I am about to finally open my mouth to point out that, at the very least, my name is not Kaelie, when my door is swung open by a complete stranger for the _second_ time on this fine early morning. Only now, the person opening the door is so beautiful, it feels almost too intimate to even look directly at him.

The white light of a rainy day streaming through my kitchen window lights him up like the sun in the sky. He glows so many shades of gold that I can hardly process it. He is radiant.

That's the only word I can think of that will encompass how he looks. His golden hair falls in fringing locks right over his forehead. His eyes are a beautiful light brown, and even from here I can see the gold flecks like autumn leaves on a dirt path. His teeth are pearly and his forehead crinkles up in the most enticing way.

He's tall and lean and muscular and I already can tell that no one could contain this much beauty and not be a major asshole.

Never in my life, however, have I wanted to sit down and draw another human being as badly as I do now. His beauty could illuminate a room, and there would still be excess.

"Isabelle! I thought it was your voice screeching through the walls," The hunk of gorgeousness exclaims. "Jesus Christ, look around you for a second. Does this look like my apartment?" I watch her jump as he shouts, and then slowly turn to absorb the room around her.

I'm suddenly aware that I have not cleaned up my paints in at least a few weeks. Old tea mugs are littered around the surfaces of the room, and my bagel I was about to eat is still untouched on a plate atop the couch. Whoever this golden hero is, he is seeing my apartment in all its glory apparently.

This apartment was like a savior to me. I don't know where I would have ended up without it.

After art school, I was still only 19. My mom had moved out of the Brooklyn apartment I used to call my home and was now living in some kind of a pre-retirement villa in France. She hadn't been particularly young when she had me, the accident child. She was just over forty when she and Valentine divorced.

I remember her crying and saying that she didn't think she would find anyone else. I thought that absurd because my mother was one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. So, naturally she gets an email from her childhood friend, Luke Garroway soon after the divorce is finalized.

All he wanted was to catch up after years of rarely communicating. Little did either of them know, they'd be married only a year later. But I have to hand it to them, they've been together ever since.

Upon finding out I had nowhere to go, I ended up living in my brother Jonathan's apartment for 8 months before his girlfriend, Seelie, finally told me to hit the road. She said it didn't have to be permanent, but that we all needed a bit of a break. She said something about pent-up sexual frustration due to paper thin walls.

It was all I needed to hear before I threw my stuff in a suitcase and went on a little roadtrip.

I packed a tent and as many cheap snacks as I could get my hands on, and of course, dozens of sketchbooks and 2B's. I took my time travelling West. I slept in a tent most nights due to lack of money (being an art student.) I pulled off the highway every time something caught my eye and I would draw it. It just so happened that one of the things that caught my eye was a small one-bedroom apartment in Portland: the city of hipsters. The rent was absurdly cheap for the quality of the apartment. The walls were once again fairly thin, and sometimes the faucet leaked, and in the dead of Winter when the heater was overworked, it would occasionally whistle. But these things were like water under the bridge once I also found a job right down the street.

I settled down and informed my brother. He acted upset over the phone, but I could hear the relief in his tone that he wouldn't have to have me as a house guest any longer.

I raved so much about my place for the first few months that I actually drew out my childhood best friend, Simon. He moved out West and into an apartment in SE Portland with me. I had found my niche once again. And now, two and a half years later, I was still in the same spot and loving it just as much.

The golden hero just looked at the girl I now knew as Isabelle while she took in her surroundings. She looks so appalled at her actions. I choose this as the opportune time to speak up. "By the way, my name's not Kaelie. It happens to be Clary."

Isabelle turns back to me, her mouth hanging open like an oven door. She takes a step away from me and smooths down her skin tight jeans. "I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry," she begins.

"Don't worry about it. Just go kick Kaelie's ass," I cut her off. No use making Isabelle feel bad for her mistake. She nods, still dumbfounded and slides past Mr. Goldilocks over there and out the door, mortified.

My hero looks at me from the doorway. He flashes a brilliantly apologetic smile. "Well, I guess I'd better buy you a coffee or something, then." His eyes search mine from the distance.

I don't normally go on coffee dates with strangers, but strangers rarely burst into my apartment unannounced to save me from their revenge-driven sister and interrupt my breakfast.

I decide this is a special circumstance.

So, even though I'm still in pajamas, I reply, "I guess you should."

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**Hope you guys liked it! I know it was short, but it was a pretty quick one. I hope to have another chapter up in about a week. Also thought you should know that this story will likely be switching perspectives between characters a lot, so just a heads up. There will be smut, but not until much later. Clary and her golden hero have to start somewhere. Please please review and let me know what you liked/didn't like and what you would like to see in the future.**

**-katethewriter**


	2. Mark Twain's Naked Ghost

**Well, I got inspired, and IWriteNaked just so happened to be available, so this chapter is out six days early! Hope you guys like it!**

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The coffee swirls in my cup, it's pale milky color giving a false impression of its strong taste. The woman behind the counter looked so taken aback when we gave our orders. One of us wanted one that was almost more milk than coffee, and no sugar; whereas the other wanted it black with heaping spoonfuls of sugar. She wrote down our orders, and naturally assigned the wrong name to each. So when I recieved a coffee loaded with sugar, I had to switch with Clary.

To say it was a strange morning would be the understatement of the year. When I walked into my apartment (which was supposed to be empty) at 4 am, Kaelie was sitting ass-naked on my kitchen table. Normally this wouldn't be an issue. Except for the fact that she had Sebastian Verlac's dick balls-deep in her mouth. In _my _apartment. We don't even live together.

I wasn't even aware she had a _key_.

So I guess I kind of dodged a bullet on that one.

But that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt like a bitch. I'm not one to _ever_ open up about my feelings. I try not to even show them, so the fact that Isabelle could tell I was hurt actually does speak volumes. I didn't think she was "the one" or any shit like that. But when you come home to find your girlfriend of several weeks giving her _boss _a blowjob, it stings.

After coming home to that, I pretty much went ballistic. Sebastian, being the ignorant douche he is, asked me if he could at least finish before he had to leave. So I punched him in the balls and made it abundantly clear that I did not wish to see either of them again as long as I lived.

Then I immediately phoned Alec and told him what was happening. He mumbled and grumbled about it being 4:30 in the morning, but I was still technically on east coast time after my trip back to Manhattan.

I had been trying to visit one of my work colleagues, but he got viral meningitis the day I arrived.

This sort of threw a wrench in the plan, so I fucked the plan.

I spent the week walking around like the tourist I was not, and visited my original childhood home. I felt like I should have received some sort of closure, seeing as this visit was the first I had made since that last day there. But I had no such luck. The sight left me unnerved to say the least. The house had been foreclosed after the accident and the banks were all fighting over who could claim custody of it. Eventually they called it some sort of stalemate and abandoned it. It sat in worse condition this last week than I had left it in, and that's saying something.

When I hung up with Alec, he must have told Magnus who must have told Isabelle. I presume this because two hours later there's Izzy, dressed to the nines, and screaming at the wrong girl. Her screams and exasperated yells were so loud I heard them from my shower, which is on the opposite side of my apartment from the shared wall. So I hopped out, threw some cords and a black t-shirt on and rushed over.

Standing under the prowess that was Isabelle was this doe-eyed, red-haired fairy. Okay, she wasn't actually a fairy. But with the ethereal beauty that emanated off her, you'd think she was. Plus, her height doesn't really help either.

She looked like she was going to barf or cry or shrink in and collapse upon herself. Most likely all three, based on the intensity of Isabelle's anger. I decided to intervene. And now, here we are, an hour, $15, and an interesting conversation.

Clary takes small, silent sips of her sweet-as-shit coffee between sentences about her family. It turns out that we both started out in Manhattan, and both ended up here in Portland. But our moving circumstances were quite different. While she tells these long-winded, detailed accounts about her childhood, I keep mine as vague as possible without seeming creepy. Easy. Clary says something about having not met before. She asks me if I'm new to the building.

"It's funny you asked, because not at all. I was actually going to ask you the same thing," _no I wasn't._ "I've never seen you around the complex," _yes I have, but we're keeping up appearances here. _

Has she really never seen me? I pass by her all the time. I know that she always opens her windows, even when it's freezing outside. I know that she always locks her mailbox twice (she locks, unlocks, then relocks just to be sure). I know that she always orders pizza from the place down the street and gets only pepperoni.

Good lord, I sound like a stalker. I mean, I have lived next door to her for almost three years. Does that excuse it? I have a weird feeling that it doesn't.

I actually had a major crush on this girl for the first year and a half. Crush is honestly the only way to describe it. It wasn't like I wanted to pin her down and fuck her on the kitchen table like I did most girls. I wanted to get to know her, and the most intimate parts of her soul. I wanted to map out every freckle on her body, and know all of her secrets for which to remember them by. I wanted to search around her personality until I found the vibrant beauty that could match her hair. I wanted to lay in a field the color of her eyes and talk about the future. And _then_ I wanted to fuck her senseless on my kitchen table. When did I become such a sappy piece of shit?

So once I finally gained the courage to ask her out, I walked outside my door to knock on hers. Maybe what I was expecting to see was an empty hallway, or a hallway full of puppies, or even a naked woman begging for my attention. What I saw instead was a curly haired, lanky, jewish-looking nerd. In a tux. With roses in his hand. In front of Clary' s door. And he was sweating like a pair of balls on a beach. That was when I realized I had not thought of the possibility of a current boyfriend already.

So I pretended to be interested in—and picked up—the newspaper on my front porch. Then I strolled back inside. I have not attempted contact since then. I thought that maybe she had noticed the stunning hunk of blonde beauty that lived next door at some point in the last two and a half years, but apparently not. So here I was, looking like a fucking stalker talking to a girl that I know too much about, who didn't even know my name until 40 minutes, 2 wrong coffee orders, and two poppyseed muffins ago.

I get so nervous every time she tries to ask me a question. Her voice is forward and never wavers. It reminds me of the bells on the reindeer Maryse and Robert used to talk about at Christmas. Every time I open my mouth, I'm afraid she'll notice my chipped tooth. What if I come off as an arrogant prick? Well, I mean, I guess I _am _an arrogant prick. But what if it's _too _arrogant or too prickish?

I haven't been this self-conscious since the spelling bee in 8th grade. I had memorized that entire fucking list, and in the middle of that fucking mandatory assembly, when the eyes of every teacher and student were on me, they started using words that weren't on the motherfucking list. I placed second and won a fucking pencil. The word was episcopal.

What the fuck.

And the goddamn winner got a deluxe edition of Scrabble. She was a fucking ass-scented croc.

This is the moment I realized that I had just told this entire story out loud. Loudly. In a public coffee shop. I open my eyes expecting to see Clary appalled, or otherwise offended. But instead she's doubled over laughing her ass off. I decide I like Clary more than I thought.

"How does a croc go around becoming ass-scented?" She asks between breathless giggles.

"Well, it has to be in an asshole first of course," I answer, deadpan. She straightens her back and feigns seriousness.

"This is probably a very simple question, but I have proven insufficient in my knowledge of ass-crocs. Why would someone fuck themselves—or another—using a croc? Aren't there a multitude of other options?" She's good at this.

"Well, the answer is simple I suppose: crocs contain holes."

"I hope you don't mind me asking: what is the significance of the holes?" She has taken on a slight british accent and a pompous demeanor. She's _very_ good at this.

"Why, it provides ventilation of course."

Gone is her bell-ringing laugh. This is a full on guffaw. I decide I like Clary a _lot _more than I thought.

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He just told a story about a girl who smells like ass-crocs. Why have I never met this guy?

I mean, I've never _met _him per se. I always spy him in the hallway or when I'm getting my mail. Plus, his bedroom backs up against mine and he has a _very _squeaky bed frame. But I could never say any of that to him.

We keep up some fake-serious banter about said ass-crocs. Then he says something about ventilation and I completely lose my shit. My composed facade slips and I let out this laugh like a warthog. My face immediately burns bright red and I hide my face in my hands, laughing at myself from utter embarrassment.

I try to steer the conversation another way to take the focus off of my disgusting laugh. He must hate me now. Jace does not seem like the kind of guy to befriend a girl who laughs like that.

"I can't imagine trying to grow from infancy with a girl who gets that scary when she's mad," I say, awkwardly turning the conversation point to Isabelle. I see Jace tense up a little bit, and he isn't forthcoming with an answer. I've kind of noticed that he gets like this about his childhood. I wonder what could have made him that way. He seems to okay be talking about his mid-teen years, and everything after that, but I get the sense that his childhood is a touchy subject. I decide not to dwell on it and try to help him out a bit instead. "Because I mean, my brother could get mad, but I've never seen anger like that. Ooh, one time Jonathan got so mad I thought he was going to cry. My friends Jordan and Simon had come over—we were best friends up until I moved here—and Jordan was dicking around and swallowed Jonathan's goldfish. It was so crazy to watch. You could practically see the goldfish flailing around in his throat. Simon had only dared him to put it in his mouth. But once it got in there, it started flapping around, and Jordan gasped and it went down his throat. He tried to spit it out, but that only pushed it further down. And that's the story of how my friend swallowed a live animal."

"You sound like you had an interesting childhood," Jace replies wryly.

"I did, my friend, I did. I heard Jordan just recently got viral meningitis too. I wonder if the two events were related."

"No shit."

"No shit what?" I ask. Jace looks like he's seen a ghost. Or a naked Mark Twain. Or maybe Mark Twain's naked ghost.

"Your childhood friend doesn't happen to be Jordan Kyle does he?"

Holy shit. This guy knows Jordan? "Yeah, he is actually. We met on the first day of Kindergarten and he kissed me under the jungle gym and we've been friends ever since. How do you know him?" I ask.

"I actually work with him. He's like my best friend. I was just in Manhattan, supposed to be visiting him for some fun and he came down with viral meningitis." Jace looks so wowed. I can't say that I feel any different. "This is just insane, I've never had such a small-world kind of connection like that. I can't even believe it."

"We're talking about the same Jordan Kyle, right? Dark-skin, tattooed sleeves, swallowed a goldfish?"

"Exact same one," Jace replies. I can't even wrap my head around this. He fucking knows Jordan. We grew up within blocks of each other and then now live in the same complex and are friends with the same person across the moherfucking country. I've got to tell Jonathan. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out, and it reads: **Jonathan: (2) messages**.

Speak of the devil.

**Hey**

**Can you talk?**

I look up to Jace and try to figure out the answer to his question. Jace seems to be thoroughly enjoying his poppyseed muffin, but I don't want to miss out on anything. I decide to step out for a second. "Hey, Jace, could you give me a minute? I have to go make a quick call."

He nods with a smile that makes my knees feel like jelly.

I walk to the stretch of hallway that leads to the bathroom. I pull my phone back out and dials Jon's number.

He picks up on the first ring.

"_Hey, Riss."_

"Hey, Jonny." We both use the names we know the other can't stand.

"_What's going on over in the land of the lumberjacks? Have you found a steady salmon fisher to settle down with yet?"_

"You realize I live in a major metropolitan area with over 600,000 people in it, right?" I know he's teasing, but it still pushes my buttons a bit.

"_I know Claryyyy," _he draws out my name_, "I just want to check in. How are things really doing over there?" _

I laugh into the phone. "They're a little interesting over here." I tell him a condensed version of my morning and listen to his laughing. I even tell him about the ass-crocs.

"_Sounds to me like someone has a crush on their neighbor," _Jon teases. My cheeks blush red again and my eyes dart over to Jace at our table, as if he somehow could have heard Jon.

"I do _not _have a crush. He just is a nice pal."

"_A nice pal, you say." _There's a pause. "_Does pal secretly stand for Passionate Anal Lover, perhaps?"_

"Oh good God, Jon. I'm hanging up," I laugh.

"_You know I love you, Clary. I'll talk to you soon." _

"Mm-hmm." I say, hanging up.

I look back over toward my table, and see Jace sipping at his coffee and conversing easily with the waitress who comes over to top off my drink.

He leans back in his chair and I can see the muscles ripple in his arm, and the little quirk of his dimple that transitions his smirk into full-blown smile. His golden hair is magnified by his black t-shirt, and I find some jealousy flaring a bit in my stomach. Am I paranoid, or did the waitress just ask Jace for his number?

Maybe I _do _have a little crush.

No, no. I am smart and sensible. That was just plain delusional. There is no way in hell that—_wait: she _did _just ask for his number. _

Okay, I have a crush. What in the world have I gotten myself into?

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**Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review and check out IWriteNaked if you haven't already.**

**-katethewriter**


	3. High Top All-Barfs

**Hello, all! I'm back again. I'm sorry this chapter is so late, but as many of you have heard, I haven't had the best few days. Plus, I had to type the majority of this on a school computer which was slightly embarassing.**

**Don't talk about it.**

**Anyways, I'm super stunned by the response! I wasn't expecting much out of this story, but I've already got some great reviews, so thank you to those of you that have. I tried to send a PM to each of you guys, but by all means please let me know if I missed you.**

**To the reviewer named "too much cuss", I'm not sure if you were unaware, but "bad wordes" absolutely make me cool. So fuck you :)**

**To the guest reviewers, I can't reply personally so this is the best I can do. Thank you, your support and kind words really mean a lot. **

**Thanks again to IWriteNaked for beta'ing, even though she probably had much better things to do than read my story (like write her own super good ones). Please check her out if you haven't already!**

_**Cautionary Trigger Warning: vomit and vomiting. If you have any anxiety or phobia regarding this matter, I would steer clear of the last third of the chapter. H**_**ate to give stuff away, but I value readers' safety and well being above all else.**

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All common sense apparently thrown out the window, I march straight back over to our table. The waitress is tall and blonde and has impeccably straight teeth that are so white they could blind you. I decide she is just Jace's type. So, I take the natural course of action. I throw my arm around his shoulder and lean my face in really close to his as if I'm about to kiss him. And then I pull away slightly, and turn towards this waitress.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?" I ask, feigning innocence. I give her a sweet smile and straighten my posture, never removing my hand from Jace's shoulder. I guess it's technically closer to the crook of his neck, but those are minor details.

She seems to see right through it, for she grinds her teeth and scrunched her nose up one side in anger.

"Oh, no. I was just asking if Jace wanted a refill, and he said he would LOVE one." She smiles passive-aggressively, the hidden connotations to her words so raw and apparent that I want to shove her tongue down her own throat. She can see that I'm angry, and she appears to be relishing in it. I hate this goddamn woman with her blonde hair and smug voice and perfect boobs. I want perfect boobs. Thinking of the unfairness in boob creation fuels my fire a bit more, and I choke out something snarky that I should instantly regret. But I don't.

"While you're at it, could you get me one too? It's black with four sugars." My charade is so obvious, my smile so fake, but I haven't been bitchy in a while and sometimes you've just got to let the inner bitch out. I can practically see steam rolling off of her, she's so angry. Just for good measure, I sit myself on the edge of Jace's lap and wave my fingers at her dismissively. She pivots on her heel and stalks off, hips shaking with each furious step.

"That was so cool! I haven't had such a raw bitch experience in so long. The last time this happened was when I bitched out Simon's old girlfriend about not supporting his music. My adrenaline levels are so high, that was long overdue." I ramble and ramble, my smile beaming. A new waiter comes out with my coffee, a dark-haired man. He smiles at me, and mouths a silent 'thank you' as well. I guess I'm not the only one who smelled the sour incense of bitch rolling off that girl. Bitchcense.  
"Did you see that?" I ask Jace, whipping my head in his direction, and looking at his eyes. Their gold-and-brown flecked irises kept focusing and defocusing, like the lens of a camera that couldn't quite figure out what it was trying to capture. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and he obviously wasn't listening. I got slightly angry, then remembered I was still sitting directly in Jace's lap. Oops.

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Holy shit, she's about to kiss me. Her face is right by mine, and her breath smells like vanilla from the muffins and mint toothpaste and sugar and I stop breathing. My heart is beating erratically and with her hand resting right at the crook of my neck. I'm momentarily afraid she'll feel my pulse. She stops suddenly and pulls away, and I worry that maybe she did feel my pulse. Or maybe I have coffee breath. Shit, do I smell okay? Did I put on deodorant? I mean, I know I brushed my teeth, but I pulled these jeans off the ground in my rush to get next door. When was the last time I washed them? Or maybe she's suddenly regretting her actions. Maybe she thought I was someone else? All the possibilities are racing through my brain. There are at least 12 trillion things that could be wrong with me in this moment. I'm about to cry from the stress of the analyzation when she decides to sit in my lap.

She's sitting in my fucking lap. Holy fucking shit.

Her red curls cascade down her back, and some of the wilder stray strands rest against the hollow of my throat. They tickle and I'm afraid I might squirm from the strange sensation. Her tiny little body is perched on top of mine. Okay, that sounds a bit more sexual than the reality. But still, her ass is on my leg.

All of my training in life has prepared for this one moment. I concentrate entirely on not getting a boner as a self-satisfied chuckle vibrates through her body, and is transferred to mine. My whole leg tingles with the sensation. My mind is moving at a tempo no maestro could match, and I'm trying to slow it down to focus on something other than the ass on my leg and the hair at the hollow of my throat and the silver laugh of the girl these belong to. I try to focus on anything other than her. Something that happens to be a turnoff would be nice too. I think about that weird homeless man who stood by Voodoo Doughnuts the other day. I think about how he smelled like urine and heroin and his white shirt was wet with something unidentifiable. He was definitely pretty gross. But then my second brain derails the train that was this old man, and instead latched onto the wet white shirt part. And then there's Clary, in a wet shirt. I can feel myself practically twitching. I'm a failure. I think about the time Max shit his pants when he was in third grade, and I had to bring him my gym shorts because Maryse wasn't home. That is in no way sexual or arousing. But then I think of gym shorts and then gym and then locker rooms, and then there's Clary in a locker room. And the shower's running and other girls are giggling, and she's sweaty and good God someone kill me now.

Suddenly, her small weight is lifted from my right leg, and she gasps. It is enough to break me out of my locker room reverie. I take a quick look down at my lap, hopefully inconspicuously, and find that I'm doing okay. It was cutting it close though, another half-minute and I could have been mortified beyond hope of reprieve.

Clary's cheeks are blushing profusely and she seems to be having trouble meeting my eyes. "Sorry, I didn't even realize I was still sitting in your lap," she gushes.

"Don't worry about it," I reply with a dismissive flop of my hand and a chuckle, "Really, it's fine." Because it was fine. Damn, was it fine. To be truthful it was about a hundred million billion times better than fine, but I didn't need to scare her away.

She clears her throat, obviously uncomfortable, so I decide to steer the conversation onto me. She visibly relaxes as I start talking about my family. I tell her about my two brothers: Alec and Max. "Alec is my best friend in the world. Jordan's a close second, but I don't think he'll ever really compare to Alec. We were inseparable in Junior High and he stuck by me while I got taunted for my New York accent -" oh no, a slip-up. I decided to just continue as before, and try to gloss it over "- and then I stuck by him in high school when he was getting bullied. The slurs they used weren't even clever, they were just brutal and straight to the point. They got bad enough that when he turned eighteen over the summer before senior year, he un-enrolled and got his GED online. Which is good, in many respects, because without doing that he wouldn't have met Magnus. And they've been together ever since. Almost 6 years."

"I dropped out of high school early too," Clary interjected. "I wanted to go to art school, but my parents couldn't find a way to fit it into the budget. So, when I got offered a full ride at an early admissions school in New York, I had my bags packed in seconds. I started halfway through my sophomore year in highschool and finished just before I turned twenty. And now, here I am." She gives me a warm smile. I smile back. "Sorry, you said you had a younger brother too?" she asks.

"Now Max," I continue, "he has the most effervescent personality of any kid I've ever met. And he's growing up so fast. I mean, he's a sophomore in high school already. The time sure flew by. He lives out in the 'burbs with Maryse. He's already looking at colleges out in New England - Ivy Leagues and what not. He's got the brains to do it, too. That kid's smarter than me. And he reads more than any other kid his age. He's got this lanky little build and his glasses always seem to be too big around his gray eyes. It's got to be the most endearing thing in the world." I could feel my smile growing just thinking of Max. His constant state of happiness seemed to be so contagious.

"He sounds a lot like my friend, Simon. He was my friend growing up, like I said earlier. He has this infectious grin and such a dry sense of humor sometimes you don't even recognize it. But he is also the geekiest son of a bitch on this side of the Mississippi," Clary filled me in. Her eyes twinkle when she talks about people she cares about. It's like the sudden sprouting of daisies in an otherwise green expanse of grass.

"Who's the biggest geek on the other side of the Mississippi?" I ask, a coy smirk on my face.

"Bobby Fischer," she answers immediately.

"Where is he?" I prompt.

"I don't know, I don't know," she responds. She's got a smile like she's about to laugh, but is holding it back. I wish she wouldn't. I really like to hear her laugh.

"Other than Alec, I didn't have too many friends growing up. Well, I had Izzy of course. But man, is she a piece of work. I love her to death, don't get me wrong; and there is nothing in this world I wouldn't do for her in a heartbeat. But she can be quite the handful."

"How so?" Clary says, her cheeks crinkling around her cheekbones with her teasing smile. She knows all too well how so after this morning.

"Well, she was quite the flirt in junior high and high school. But she was never tied down. A lot of summer flings, a lot of fall flings, a lot of winter flings, quite a few spring flings. I mean, you've got to hand it to her: she got herself set up. She would stay with someone just long enough for them to think they were the one and buy her something expensive, or parade her around in a nice car, or take her to a fancy dinner, and then it wasn't them it was her. But she is also one of the most fiercely loyal and grudgingly independent people I've ever met." I smile at Clary's warm glow. "I'm sure you've observed the fiercely loyal part."

Clary's phone buzzes again, this time from its spot on the floor on top of her jacket. She bends over to check who it is and her t-shirt falls open a bit, the flannel not covering anything. I look away to be polite, but I still have to concentrate on Max's shitting incident to keep cool.

"Sorry," she mutters, "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." She types something into her phone, sending a text. She finishes, shuts it off and lightly tosses it back down on top of her rain-jacket. She picks a piece of fuzz off the knee of her black leggings and crosses her legs. That's when I remember I had plans to meet with Max. I check my watch quickly, and realize that unless traffic is miraculously bad, I should have a couple more minutes before I really have to leave. I do a quick check out the rain-stained window and see the cars moving like snails. For a city with gray skies six and a half days out of seven, the residents still don't know how to drive in the rain. At least they aren't honking every second of the day, like New Yorkers. They're all fairly calm and polite. I turn to Clary, an apology forming on my lips. But she looks as though she has one of her own.

"I just remembered I have to go meet Max," I say, as Clary simultaneously says, "I totally forgot that I'm supposed to meet Simon."

We laugh at our similar excuses and stand up together. Clary reaches down to pick up her jacket and she looks like a tiny bird reaching for a twig for her nest. I grab and eat the last bit of my scone, and then start walking toward the door with Clary.

"You know, I actually had a really great time with you, Clary. I wish we had done this earlier. I didn't realize what enlightening conversations I was missing out on. I mean, ass crocs and swallowed goldfish? Totally missing out." I look at her, expecting to laugh again, but she has a strange look of utter concentration on her face. She's clutching her stomach a bit, and her face is even whiter than it was a moment ago. Actually, it's starting to look a little greenish. As though she might-

"Shit!"

* * *

I just vomited on Jace's shoes. I just vomited on Jace's shoes. Lord kill me now.

I only faintly recognize, deep in my mind that I yelled an expletive in a coffee shop. I'm a bit more preoccupied with the fact that I just fucking THREW UP ON JACE'S SHOES.

I want to curl in a ball and cease to exist. But if I curl up in a ball here, I am going to get vomit in my hair. From the vomit on Jace's shoes. That just spewed from my mouth. I want desperately to cry. Or scream. Or run away.

To do anything at all except stand here in my own vomit watching the shock register on Jace's face. But then he does something I wasn't expecting.

He laughs out loud.

This is unlike the quiet, husky chuckle of conversation. This is a deep, throaty, resounding laugh that fills the room entirely. Anyone that didn't look up when the deed was done, they sure are looking now.

We must look like absolute maniacs. One of us is about to cry, the other is laughing like a man whose life depends on it, and we're both standing in a pool of bile and coffee and flecks of poppyseed. I look up at Jace, completely awed by his behavior. But his whole body is shaking with the laughter. His grin is reaching his ears, and his eyes are alight like the candles of a little kid's birthday cake. There is so much raw emotion and mortification surging through me, the only thing my body can seem to do is laugh with him.

We definitely look like maniacs.

"You bitched out that waitress and she poisoned your coffee!" He shouts, seemingly unaware that said waitress is staring at us from the counter. No one else has moved. "She fucking poisoned your coffee! This is hilarious! Why did you even bitch her out in the first place?" He's still shaking with waves of laughter.

"I thought she was hitting on you and so I stormed over and told her not so subtly to back off," I answer. I don't dwell on the fact that I just confessed being jealous over him. Maybe he won't notice.

"Well, you might want to call Simon: I have a feeling this will take a little while."

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**Please don't forget to review and let me know what you think! I love hearing from you guys. Next chapter should be up by Friday if all goes as planned.**

**Thanks for reading :)**

-katethewriter


	4. Ice Breakers

**Hi, hi everybody! Sorry I'm a little late. I'm shooting for weekly updates, preferably on Mondays. (Might switch to Tuesdays in the near future.) I would like to publicly thank my beta IWriteNaked for the shout-out she gave me! It was such a pleasant surprise and I'm totally grateful for it. Check her out and read her stories!**

**Enjoy~**

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I only threw up three more times that hour. Jace had offered to hold my hair back for me, but I hadn't cleaned my bathroom in too long, and the dried toothpaste on the mirror was not precisely what I wanted him to remember me by...

Although I would take that over crazy-neighbor-girl-that-threw-up-on-me-in-public in a heartbeat.

So, Jace preoccupied himself with making me hot tea and then calling the manager, then the regional manager to make sure that the waitress's deeds were at least known to the general public. Apparently she had confessed to Jace on the phone that it was her, then cried, then asked him if he would rather spend time with her than the crazy-neighbor-girl-that-threw-up-on-him-in-public.

He politely declined.

Simon had shown up only ten minutes after us. I wanted to introduce them properly, but it was hard to lead a conversation with vomit projecting out of your mouth.

I wholly expected Jace to leave after Simon arrived. I wouldn't have wanted to hang out with someone who was practically a stranger to me while they were barfing. But hey, to each their own, I guess. He had left only once, and it was to grab a clean pair of socks and some slippers. Then he was back, and even though I had to sit with a bucket by my side, Jace Simon and I sat on the couch and watched Freaks &amp; Geeks. He told me that Sam Weir was the spitting image of Max in Junior High. I had to laugh. I told him I was a pretty close match to Millie Kentner. He laughed too.

"I'm definitely Jeff-the guidance counselor. Can't you see it, Clary? We're practically twins," Jace says with a wink that makes my tummy fill with butterflies. Wait, those aren't butterflies.

I heave into the bucket again.

"Sounds like Max and I are pretty similar," Simon grumbles. He is being quite contrary today. It's weird for him. He never grumbles in my presence.

My phone vibrates from the counter. Jace stands up off the plush, plaid chair to grab it for me. Once his weight is removed, the cushion of the chair slowly rises higher up to the sky, like an umbrella on a rainy day.

"It's Jonathan," he reads out. "He wants to know how you feel."

"Like bits of regurgitated worm from a mother bird's mouth," I deadpan. Jace makes a face as though he's tasted something sour, but then it rights itself and he begins typing it into my phone for me.

We've come quite far in the few hours we've known each other. And it's odd, because I'm usually not so quick to make friends. Not that I don't want to make friends quickly, I just always worry about being offensive or the possibility of conflicting personality traits, or I could accidentally say something ignorant and there would be no way for me to fix it. So I don't make friends too quickly, too easily. Except Jace makes it very easy. He fills the silences when I don't know how to, and he knows how to accept silence without any awkwardness.

He's a healthy conversational partner.

When Freaks and Geeks is over, Jace offers to make me soup. I accept with a grin, and Simon scoots closer to me on the couch. The vomiting seems to have gone down to a minimum, and Simon strikes up conversation. We talk about me and my morning and Jace laughs from the kitchen, and interjects when I'm "Not telling it right." Simon laughs almost the whole way through, excluding the part where I yelled at the waitress. I thought it was funny. I don't know why he doesn't. What's with the sour expression on his face? Jace is silent too, but for the clearing of his throat once.

After we talk about me for what I deem too long, I turn the conversation on Simon. He tells me about school and how it's going: he's still taking the night courses at Portland State while focusing on his music in the day. Simon has had a dream since he was four that he wanted to play bass in a superstar rock band. Everyone always laughed at his silly ideas, but once he moved out here it became a reality. Simon met his other band members at a record store on Burnside.

At least that's where he'd met Eric. Eric is now just the drummer, but when they'd first started out he tried to also do vocals. It didn't turn out too pretty. So, they put up posters all over the city. And after hours of auditions, they'd found Kirk, Matt, and Tyler. Tyler is such a wannabe hipster, it almost hurts to be around him. He wore exclusively things found on the mannequins at Urban Outfitters and he confessed to not needing glasses, even though he wears his square Ray Bans everyday. His personality wasn't easy to swallow either. But he can sing and that's all they were really looking for.

And to be honest, they are actually pretty amazing.

He says that the band was meeting three times a week now, which is definitely improving the sound. I am really happy for him. He tells me work is going well (he works as a waiter at a nearby high end restaurant and I swear it's the only reason he has a clean haircut) and that he's just gotten a promotion. He doesn't say to what, and I don't know what there was between waiter and manager, but I am happy for him all the same.

"Have you talked to Jordan lately?" Simon asks me. "I tried to call him a little less than a week ago and he said he couldn't talk, that he had _viral meningitis. _Can you believe that? It was just so weird."

Jace comes in then with my soup poured into a mug. He hands me the spoon before turning to talk to Simon. "Actually yeah, he has viral meningitis. He looked like hell."

Simon looks at Jace as though he had a second head. "As if you would know, I'm talking about someone who lives in _New York_." I guess I'd forgotten that part of my story.

"Simon, it's the funniest thing," I begin. I fill him in on the whole story, and it only seems to make him grumpier with Jace. I can not figure it out.

But it is short lived, for a few minutes later Simon grumbles something about band practice and leaves.

"Sorry he was being so weird," I say to Jace. "Usually he's more friendly. I don't know what was up with him." Jace shrugs as if it meant nothing to him, and then turns to me.

A grin lights up all his features like the jumbotrons in Times Square. "Do you want to play an icebreaker game?"

"Hate to burst your bubble, but I'm pretty sure the ice got broken a while ago. We have already been together in sickness and in health, for better and for worse. We're a bit past introductions at this point."

"It will be fun," he promises. And so I play.

He explains the rules: he can ask me any question he wants and I have to give an honest answer. Kind of like the truth part of truth or dare. Except any question we ask we also have to answer ourselves. That's the catch. Somehow I didn't think this would be seen as a catch to Jace, more like an added plus.

What is the biggest thing you've ever put in your mouth?"" Jace asks me with a smirk and a gleam of his gold-flecked eyes.

I should have seen something like this coming, but still I can't hold back the blush in my cheeks. I open my mouth to speak but then vehemently close it again. This is embarrassing. "I got dared to shove an entire Captain Kirk action figure in my mouth in college. I was only 17. It was embarrassing to say the least. Now you," I prompt.

"I put a seven inch long, two inch diameter dildo in my mouth in my junior year of high school." He is extremely smug, and I suddenly realize he asked the question for the sole purpose of being able to answer it. I reply to his smug grin with my own equally amused one.

Then I ask my question, "Okay then, what is your favorite food?" I was going for subtle innocence and actual curiosity.

"You've got to be kidding me, this is such an easy one! I like fried rice. But not this sad excuse for it in the PacNW. I mean like real, good fried rice sold in a hole-in-the-wall Chinese place in Manhattan that makes you need to wash your hands and question if your sense of smell will ever be the same." I smile at his description. I know exactly what he is talking about.

"Mine is probably chicken Parmesan. When the cheese is melty and the sauce is sweet but rich, and the chicken is breaded and crispy but also like still moist. Oh god, it's good."

"What is your most vivid sexual fantasy?" Jace asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.

I groan and throw the couch pillow over my eyes. I try desperately to keep from blushing bright red, but it is basically impossible.

"I'll go first if it'll make you feel better," he says. When I nod my head vigorously, he begins, "it was right after High School Musical came out." Already I knew I was in for a surprise. "Izzy was super into it, saying she wanted to marry Troy and all that. So, she had me watch it with her one day, and I obliged. And goddamn was Gabriella smoking. I could just imagine her in all her glory with her hair down and that shy smile on her face as she—"

"That's enough!" I interrupt quickly. He looks at me expectantly. My turn. My freckles must be all but indiscernible past the tomato red hue of my skin. I am mortified. "Okay, when I was 15, I used to think about—"

"_Fantasize, _Clary," Jace interrupts.

"_Fantasize,_" I repeat, still horrendously mortified, "about Justin Timberlake." I swallow a large lump in my throat. "I mean, he was unheard from for most of the year and then dropped his album, and every girl I knew just went crazy and his looks and his voice, and ugh. It was too much." I suddenly find a boost of courage, "But I also had a _huge_ crush on Jordan. I asked him to Homecoming freshman year, and he actually said yes. I was so surprised. But then he broke his leg two weeks before and he couldn't fit any long pants over his cast so he couldn't go. It was really embarrassing because I had already bought a dress and everything. So that happened."

"Do you mean to tell me that you fantasized about Jordan Kyle?"

"No! I did not _fantasize_ about him, oh my god. That's disgusting! I mean, I thought about kissing him a couple times, but _no!_" I couldn't keep the look off my face. It was basically as if he'd asked if I ever fantasized about Jonathan. God, no. "If you had a million balloons, what would you do with them?" Even Helen Keller would be able to discern the stark differences between our questions.

"Easy. I would buy a zoo employee outfit and sell them at the zoo. With the get-up and the location, I would look like I was affiliated with the zoo, and mothers would feel more obligated to buy one for their tiny little people and I would easily make money. Plus, once you step inside the entrance of any zoo or amusement park, you automatically get to charge twice what you would outside. It's common fact."

I shake my head at him and smile despite myself. Where does he come up with stuff like that? "I would probably try to float with them; I mean, I've always wanted to fly. To feel the wind in my hair and the sting in my eyes and be able to see the land expanse below me. Could you imagine having a view like that to paint? It would be extraordinary." He looks at me like he is seriously considering my answer for something.

"How, when, where, and to whom did you lose your virginity?" I guess we are back to the Jace-type questions.

"I lost my virginity on my seventeenth birthday to some dick-hole named Sebastian. He was just some slimy weirdo that made me feel special for twenty minutes, and knew exactly what to do and say to get into my pants. It was quick and it was boring and it hurt. He didn't even take me somewhere nice or anything. It was in his friend's dorm." I used to not like talking about that night, but then I realized that virginity is just some weird Pagan ideal and plot to demean and continuously strip the power of women. So, now it doesn't bother me too much.

"I lost mine in my own car on the top floor of a parking garage when I was seventeen. It would have been a really cool experience had the girl remembered my name twenty minutes after. She was a college girl from out of town and we met at a concert. She did to me what Sebastian did to you, and used me for a fun night. Oh well, I could think of a few I would rather have lost it to, but I guess we don't always get to choose who to love."

I want to ask my question, but I can't quite think of one, and the silence seems almost too static to interrupt. So, I don't. Jace looks thoughtful about something for a minute before he inhales deeply and smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. Something about his words had a double meaning. Like he didn't only mean love in the physical sense.

He's looking at my hands resting in my lap and now that I am aware of his gaze I can't stop fidgeting them. He then looks slowly up to my eyes. I want to fidget some more, maybe avert his gaze, but it is like I physically can't. Something is binding me in my spot. His eyes are so searching that I can't look away from them. So, I don't . We stare at each other for what feels like eons, the room silent but for the pattering of rain against the window. It patters there like drummers in a marching band that can't quite follow the music correctly.

I am so lost in the amber relics interspersed in his otherwise honey colored eyes. They seem so rich, like if you jumped in them it would take hours before you sank all the way to the bottom of them. I can't find a single flaw in his radiant, beautiful face. Not one.

"Quite a few people," he murmurs. My head is filled with gauze like a new bottle of pills; sealed for freshness, but not quite exempt from shaking around. His words confuse me, and I can't quite remember what we were talking about only a few moments ago. And then he tilts his face ever so slightly to the right. And then his face is moving in towards mine. He is going to kiss me. Goddamn it, Jace is about to kiss me.

I have to stop him! I have puke breath! But I don't want to stop him. Who care about puke breath anyway? So instead, I just tilt my face ever so slightly too and I let him come. And when we are just close enough that I can feel the zips of electricity shooting out from his skin, my phone rings loud and shrill on the table.

* * *

**Clary, _everyone_ cares about puke breath! I have to sign off now because I need to be up at 5 am. Ew.**

**Hope you guys liked it. Don't forget to review!**

**-katethewriter**


	5. Bearded Armenian Woman

**Hi guys! Sorry for the wait! I had it done and beta'd last night, but I decided to wait one more day to post because...**

**today is my 16th birthday! Eeeeeeeeeep!**

**I'm super excited and it's really great and I thought I'd share a bit of my excitement by giving you guys a new chapter. Enjoy!**

(P.S. _Italics_ are for phone calls. The dialogue in _italics_ is on the other end of the phone. There was confusion about that the last time I did it.)

* * *

Her lips look perfect, like they've been sculpted by Gods. I am so caught up in thoughts of her that I don't even notice myself closing the distance between us. Not until she tilts her head and her eyes flutter closed.

Shit, I'm going to kiss her. And she's going to let me. And it's like the whole room melts away and it's just the two of us and her eyelashes are so long! And her mouth is hanging open just enough that I can see her teeth glinting and I think I'm going to pee my pants.

This is not how I should be acting, for Christ's sake! I am a man, and a strong muscular testosterone-filled man at that! I should not be internally squealing.

This is unacceptable.

But she's right there! And she's going to kiss me back! Why am I moving so slowly? I need to speed this shit up.

This has got to be good. I can feel her breath on my lips and it's just so beautifully...unpleasant? Oh well, I'll survive. I can feel tendrils of anticipation rolling from my lips to hers. Our noses are just starting to interlock, and then the shrill ringing of a telephone cuts us off.

The room swirls back into focus, and she flies away like the bird whose stature she's always resembled. I stay exactly where I am, trying and failing to conceal the disappointment that must be as clear as day on my face.

I blink slowly and inhale through my nose. The unpleasant smell from a moment ago I now recognize as the lingering hint of vomit. Lovely. The popcorn bucket rests just next to my hand, so I grab it and stand up to take it out to the garbage outside. I give Clary a little wave as I stalk out the door and she looks at me apologetically as she holds her phone up to her ear.

I step from her apartment out into the cold hallway. Clary's apartment is the end cap of the building, so she has twice the number of windows that I do. I'm totally jealous of all the natural light that she gets. The air is damp, but pleasantly so. I walk down the hall, past my own door and to the garbage chute at the far end, right next to the staircase leading down to the first floor and the parking lot. I'm grateful for the slight chill in the air, for its keeping my head clear.

I almost kissed Clary.

My head was mere centimeters from hers and she was letting me almost kiss her.

I'm glad however that it didn't actually happen; I mean, I've had a crush on this girl long enough to know that our first kiss—if we have one—should not be over a bucket of vomit on the first day we've sustained real conversation. I don't want Clary to be some kind of fling. I know I sound like a sappy loser, but I want this to be meaningful. She deserves more than a one-night-stand.

I finish pacing and, though I want to, I don't head back into Clary's place. I decide I need to clear my head, and the cool air is definitely helping.

**this is a line break it wouldn't let me do one so i had to improvise**

_"Clare-Bear! I feel like we haven't talked in forever! I hope I'm not interrupting anything, I just really need to tell you something." _His voice is as smooth as ever despite the obvious excitement in it.

"No, Jordan," I reply. "You didn't interrupt anything." Uh, yes you did. But I can't tell you that. "What's going on?"

_"Try to contain your excitement..." _

"Excitement equals contained," I reply, though that is most certainly a lie. For one, I've never heard him this ecstatic on the phone before. The second reason is something that I don't care to say out loud.

_"I'm coming to visit!"_ he sings. I squeal directly into the phone.

"HolyshitJordanareyoukiddingmeohmyGod!" I breathe it into the phone as if it is one word. My God, does my breath stink.

_"One hundred percent serious,"_ he breathes, his voice like liquid caramel. _"I've been looking at the rates for a while and talking with Simon. I was originally going to wait until a few months from now, but I just had to stand up my buddy on account of my viral meningitis and he lives out there, too. So I thought I'd hit two birds with one stone. I was planning to stay at Simon's but Eric has to crash there this weekend instead so I don't have a place to stay…."_

"Jordan, are you kidding? Of course you do! You're staying at my place. I can't believe this. It's been so long, I can't fucking believe it!" I am on the verge of peeing my pants. I haven't seen Jordan in person since I moved. We have videochatted plenty of times, but I have not seen him in the flesh in two and a half years.

_"I know, I know! I land on Friday at three." _

"Jordan, that's five days away!"

_"I know! I'm sorry for the short notice. I wasn't planning on telling you at all until I was standing at your doorstep, but now that I don't really have a place to stay it makes things a bit more complicated."_

"I can't believe you weren't going to tell me. What if I opened the door nude not knowing it was you?"

_"I don't see how that would be a problem."_ I can practically see the smirk on his face. _"Although I hope you don't make it a habit of opening the door nude."_

"You wish," I reply with a wink, without thinking of the fact that I am alone in my living room and that I just winked to my wall. God, I'm an idiot. "Well what's new, Jor-dandy? I mean aside from the viral meningitis?" I feel like I'm going to burst I'm so happy. My best friend of my whole childhood is going to be here in five days. Holy shit. I think I'm going to piss out of my eyeballs I'm so excited.

"_Not much has been happening with me, honestly. I mean, aside from the viral meningitis. I quit my shit side job. Finally."_

"Well that's super exciting!" Jordan had always been working freelance for a company that he really loved and enjoyed. The only problem was the less-than-lovable pay.

So, to have a little spending money he had been working at this "living museum" just outside the city. He basically went in and pretended to be a colonial citizen from 8 am to 7 pm every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. It was embarrassing, to say the least. And if you think that's bad, well the manager was a sixty-five year old bearded Armenian woman that hated him and spit whenever she talked.

I had the misfortune to meet her a few times, and she was arguably the scariest human being on this planet. She was always on Jordan's ass about his tattoos and his frequent tardiness and his constant on-the-job flirting with the other Federalists. He had hated it since the day he'd started. But it paid decently enough that he had food to eat, and so he'd just grin and bear it. I guess he decided to stop grinning.

"But how are you able to afford it?"

"_Well, I've been saving up long enough that I have a sufficient cushion that should last me a while." _

"That makes sense," I reply.

"_Hey, you know what, Clare-bear? I actually have to go. I'm going to call a buddy from work and let him know I'm coming to town. I'll talk to you soon."_

"Okay," I reply, "love youuuu!" I drag out the word the way I know tugs on his little heartstrings.

"_Love you toooo,"_ he says. "_Mwah!"_ Is the final ring before the line cuts off.

With nothing else to do, I decide to hop up and brush my teeth. Lord knows my breath could probably knock a man dead at this point. And to think I almost kissed Jace with breath like this. Then I remind myself I'm not going to think about almost kissing Jace. That's the only way I know how to cope. Shove it under the rug until it is imperative that I think about it. And maybe not even then.

I brush my teeth quickly and walk back into the living room. I instinctively grab the blankets draped across the couch and throw them over the arm. Looking out the window, I sit down in my favorite spot and clutch a pillow between my arms. I'm knocked from my reverie by the opening of the door, followed by an excited cry of expletives.

"No fucking shit!" Jace calls. He has this large lopsided grin on his face and his eyes are alight. He looks at me and holds up his hand, pointing to his cell phone. He mouths the word _Jordan_ to me.

"Of course," I mutter smacking my forehead with my hand. "I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner." Jace is Jordan's other friend that he's coming out to see.

I smile as Jace and Jordan finish their conversation. He hangs up the phone with an excited, "See you soon, asshole!"

He claps his hands together and looks at me with the expression of a child on Christmas morning.

"You will not believe this shit," Jace says. He holds his phone in the air. "Jordan is coming out to Portland! He's going to be here on Friday. He's staying with some childhood friend, but…" I watch as the realization dawns on him. I am said childhood friend. "Shit, man. This weekend is going to be beyond dope."

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Sorry its so short after such a long wait. It looks like there will be another long one though, because I have dress rehearsals every night and then opening night this week for a musical. I'll try to write as much as possible, but the next two weeks might be pretty slow.**

**Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!**

**-katethewriter**


	6. Asstastic Mama

**Hi guys! This one is unbeta'd because it's just so late. Once it was finished to the point that I considered it post-worthy, I uploaded it. This means all mistakes are mine. Regardless, don't forget to check out IWriteNaked. She's written some oneshots lately that are amazing. I particularly like chapter 2 of Brohomie. **

**Happy reading and don't forget to review!**

* * *

The next forty-eight hours or so go by extremely slowly.

Simon has been busy with the band, which has left me entirely lonely. Simon's quite excited though, because the band has a really big gig coming up and tickets are almost sold out and everything.

This left me sitting here lonely and although it's probably silly, I feel weird asking to get together with Jace. I pour myself some coffee and reach for the jar of sugar. We shared one whirlwind of a day, and when he went home after his phone call with Jordan, things seemed awkward and stagnant. I didn't know what kind of ground I was on with him, and although we had exchanged numbers and lived two feet from each other, I couldn't bring myself to talk to him.

I feel the sluggishness of the spoon start to subside as I stir and the sugar dissolves. I take two long sips, hoping that the caffeine will somehow keep the dark circles away but I know they won't.

I was woken up last night by Jace's squeaky bed frame through the wall. It was definitely not the first time it had woken me up. I couldn't even count the squeaks I had heard before. But this was the first time that I couldn't sleep again afterward. I don't know why it hurt my feelings to hear the creaking. It sounds dumb even as I think it. It's not like I had any claim on him.

We aren't even friends, are we? His sister yelled at me and then I threw up on him. It was nothing more than that. I'm just the weird girl next door who is too invested in Freaks and Geeks and has puke breath.

So why does it hurt so much to hear that squeaking?

* * *

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're fucking kidding me. What the actual goddamn fuck?"

I would say I'm speechless but that's not true. I am capable of speech, but these are the only words I can actually get out. I took the late shift at work again, and I am entirely fucking exhausted. My bones feel too heavy and my eyes sting when I open them and I am so fatigued that I started nodding off at a red light on the way here. So when I come home all I really want is to flop down on my bed and hibernate until the year 2030. And when shit gets in the way of my hibernation, I tend to get pissed.

And when the shit getting in the way of my hibernating is my ex-girlfriend fucking her boss in my bed, I tend to get really fucking pissed.

But not speechless.

Which I honestly should be, because this bitch should not have a goddamn fucking key. And why the fuck would she do it here? She has her own place, her crusty ass boss has his own place, and neither of those places are mine.

Honestly, I should have been alerted to her presence by the creaking of my bed frame, but I was so fucking tired I hardly even processed it. But shit has been processed now, and I am ready to shoot a man. I'm so pissed I could stab a demon with some kind of crystal I mean, let's be real, who the fuck would do that? You know what, now that I think of it, I wouldn't put some crazy ass shit like that past Kaelie. She seems to be pretty good at doing shit completely out of left fucking field.

Sebastian Fuck-tard Verlac grunts and comes as I finish speaking. From the flush on Kaelie's face and her labored breathing, I can tell she must have just recently finished as well. I throw up in my mouth a bit. Sebastian rolls off her and looks up at me, as if just now noticing I'm there. He raises an eyebrow and smirks, "She really is good in the sack, isn't she, buddy?"

I contemplate grabbing him by his overly-large ears and throwing him through the wall, but I don't want to disturb Clary too greatly, especially so late at night. So instead, I grab Sebastian's arms and throw him to the ground. He stands up, throwing one of _my_ pillows over his crotch in a desperate attempt to save his pride or some stupid shit like that. Disregarding the pillow, I send a kick straight into his balls and watch the tears well up around the corners of his eyes. _Good,_ I think.

I turn to Kaelie, who has the sheets thrown over her long, sculpted body and is watching with what appears to be amusement in her eyes. And then it dawns on me.

The goddamned bitch wanted this to happen. She's wanted this to happen all along. In the last four minutes my emotions have gone from fatigued beyond compare to slightly confused to momentarily turned on to disgusted to angry to rage-driven to livid. And I'm ready to cut a bitch.

But then I hear the whooshing of water overhead, the tell-tale sign that Clary's shower is running. And for some strange (probably perverted) reason, this calms me down a bit and brings me back down to earth.

So instead of tearing Sebastian dick off of his body and throwing it and Kaelie out some kind of window like I want to, I stare straight into Kaelie's eyes. With all the controlled rage and venom I can muster, I spit at her, "You're a sorry waste of space. If I see either of you anywhere near here again, I will file a restraining order immediately. And it won't be pretty. Take your clothes and your saggy-assed fuckboy and get out of my apartment. Now."

Surprising me, they both scramble for their clothing and run out of the room quicker than I thought possible. I didn't realize I could actually be so scary.

The smell of sex still lingers in the air, so I grab one of the extra blankets from the closet and head to the couch.

When I wake up the next morning, I wash the sheets and blankets from my bed. Twice. Even then I can't remove the memory of the encounter from them, so instead of heading back to put them on my bed, I take them outside and hand them out to some homeless people down the street.

Feeling better than this morning, I grab my coat and bicycle and head out for some lunch. I stop at a little sandwich place down the street and people-watch from the windows. It's honestly one of my favorite pastimes. I can forget so easily that there are so many billions of people out there, and that these 7 or 8 billion aren't just there to fill a number. Each one has their own life, their own aspirations, beliefs, quirks.

Some of them walk with deep set eyes and heavy frowns, while others are alight with joy. I see a rainbow of hair colors, a plethora of piercings. Tattoos of sperm whales, corporate logos, and treble clefs. Some walk with hands in pockets, some with them folded around their torsos and chests. Others have their hands locked in those of someone else. A curious mix of strictly-professionals and post-modernists.

One couple walks together in matching pant-suits, holding hands but each on their cell phone talking to someone else. Right behind them walks two women with hands in eachothers' jeans pockets and matching platinum hair talking animatedly.

As the bill is set down, a face struts by that is more than familiar. I throw down some cash, grab my coat and dart out the door.

When the door to the restaurant closes behind me, I throw my arms into my jacket sleeves and look down the street. Her hair is bouncing with each step she takes. I am weaving through people to get up to her.

"Iz!" I call, "Wait up!" She turns her head around, her straight black hair whipping around her face as she locks eyes with me. And then she turns back around and increases her pace in the other direction. I start running to get to her. My Converse are gripping the pavement as I dart down the block. "Iz, come on! What are you doing?" She doesn't turn around this time.

I finally catch up to her when she has to stop at a crosswalk. My hand finds hers and whirls her around. "Iz, what's going on? You haven't returned any of my calls, and then you saw me just now and started running off and—"

"I can't talk right now, Jace. I'm really super late for this meeting with my, uh, boss. And he needs to see me and I need to go right this minute so I can't talk to you because of this very important—"

"Isabelle, slow down. I know that's total bullshit. Did you forget that you don't even have a boss?" Her fake resolve falters and drops while her shoulders simultaneously slump. "Now are you going to tell me why you've been avoiding me? I've called at least half a dozen times, and you never pick up. What's going on?"

She inhales quickly and exhales with a long sigh. "Okay, fine. I just didn't want to run into you because I know how mad you'll be. What I did was so shitty."

She looks up at me through her long black eyelashes. She's tall, but she still has to tilt her head up to meet my eyes. She jumps a little when I start laughing at her. Extremely loudly. "Isabelle Sophia Lightwood, you couldn't be further from the truth. Well, I mean, yeah that was pretty shitty. But I'm not mad at all. You completely and wholly broke the ice between me and a girl I've been trying to talk to for two and a half years. Do you know how grateful I am? That's why I've been trying to call you: to thank you."

Her eyes go from the panicked blue of a tumultuous ocean to the excitement of a midnight past curfew. "Does that mean Jace has a crush on his neighbor?"

"No!" I shout, "She's just an amiga. I mean I've only known her for like a day."

"Amiga as in Asstastic-Mama Inducing Groin Amplification?"

"Isabelle, that doesn't even make sense."

"She gives you boners," she translates. I just give her a look that shows she didn't meet expectations. "I know, I had to reach a bit on that one. But it got my point across."

"That's not what I meant by amiga. I just mean that if anything we're friends now. Which is good because she's my next door neighbor and I should be able to say that I know my next-door neighbor. Besides, I needed to be able to remind her that the walls are not as thick as she thinks. Because she seems to forget that pretty often when she turns on music. But it's good music so it hasn't bothered me too much." I'm rambling a bit and I'm aware that I'm talking too fast, but I'm just trying to regain a bit of normalcy in the conversation and get that mischievous glint out of Isabelle's eyes at the thought of me having a crush. But Isabelle looks no more convinced of my argument than the telephone pole adjacent to her.

"Okay…" she trails off, looking very much like she doesn't believe me. "Well I'll let you get back to your "amiga" then." She smiles at me.

"No, come on Iz. Walk with me. I have to go get my bike from the rack up there anyways." She obliges and we set off back down the sidewalk both with hands shoved in pockets and heads looking at feet. "Remember my work friend, Jordan, I keep telling you about? He's coming into town this weekend and he'll be staying at Clary's." She looks quizzically at me. "The girl next door," I fill in. Her expression only gets more confused. I chuckle lightly. "I guess they are childhood friends. They've known each other since birth practically. Anyways, this will be his first time out in Portland. It's going to be pretty cool. I'd like it if you could meet him too."

"Is he hot?" Isabelle asks.

"Quite," I reply with a straight face.

"I'll think about it, then." With a teasing smile and an adjustment of her jacket hood, she walks off towards her car in her stilettos. I hop on my bicycle and head home. I bike just for the feel of the wind on my face and in my hair as I ride. It stings my eyes and whips through my shirt and I love it. After just a few short blocks I'm back home. I pull my bike up the exterior stairs and prop it on the wall by my front door.

Once inside, it's like I'm restless; I can't sit in one place too long, nothing is holding my interest, I can't think of anything else to do but the thing I so desperately want to. Unable to fight it anymore, I head back out my door and knock on her's.

I hear a quiet "Be right there!" sounding like a bell tinkling in the far recesses of a velvet bag. I lean back againsst the railing opposite her door. In only a moment she's there wearing jeans, a drugstore crewneck sweatshirt, and a red flannel.

"Oh, hi Jace," she says. When she says my name its like she's speaking some unspoken language that only we are versed in. She scratches the back of her ankle with the toe of her wool-sock clad foot. She looks too comfortable for her own good. "What's up?"

"I have an idea."

* * *

**Please review!**


	7. The Brand With The Dog On It

**Hi! I'm back! Hope everyone in the U.S. had a nice Thanksgiving, and is staying up to date and aware on all that's going on right now. I went on a little vacation and while on the road I got 7,000 words written! It's left me feeling super accomplished, and the next two chapters after this one are 100% written. This means prompter updates and can give me time to write several more chapters and things should basically be running smoother for a little while.**

**This is once again unbeta'd because IWriteNaked is currently writing from her phone, and I know how much of a bitch it can be to beta from a phone, so I'm giving her a bit of a break. That doesn't mean that the quality of her oneshots is being affected at all however, and she's cranking them out faster than ever before. So I'd head over there fast if I were you.**

**Happy reading and don't forget to review!**

* * *

He has a grin that overtakes at least half his face. His eyes are so bright they look as though they could burn. I nervously run my toe over the back of my ankle.

"An idea?" I ask. His excitement is so contagious I can feel the tempo of my heart increasing.

"An idea," he repeats. I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of mine. After a few stale seconds, I clear my throat. He still doesn't quite catch on. He still looks at me with the same goofy grin, still leaning nonchalantly against the railing behind him. Despite the apparent one-way awkward atmosphere, I can't help smiling along with him.

"Come on in. Do elaborate," I tell him. And so he does.

"So, as you know, this is Jordan's first time in the Pacific Northwest, and I want it to be pretty special." I nod along with him. "I want to throw him a party. It doesn't have to be huge, but big enough that he can meet all the people we like out here, you know? I'll bring Alec and his boyfriend and Isabelle and you can bring Simon and it'll just be really personal and fun. I can buy booze, you can buy some food and we'll just chill." I think about it for a moment, and how utterly perfect it sounds. And I can't see a single drawback to his plan.

"That sounds great, Jace," I tell him. He beams at me from his spot on the plush chair.

"You think so?" He replies. I nod and fold my legs under me as I grab a pillow and plop onto the couch.

"Absolutely. We'll do it at my place," I say to him. He beams again. "But not Friday, because I was wanting to just spend some time with him Friday night. I haven't seen him in two and a half years, and he is my best friend. But we can do Saturday, definitely."

"Sure," he continues. "Here's the real question, though: do we tell him? Or do we keep it a secret? Like a surprise party?"

I think for a beat before replying. "I think we tell him, but not yet. He should know why people randomly start showing up, but not until they start showing up, or a couple hours before at least. So let's do this. We can all have lunch together and tell him the news on Saturday. Sound good?"

"Perfect."

"Good."

He continues to smile at me in that way that makes it impossible for me not to smile back. "What do you want to do?" he asks me, as if it's totally normal for us to hang out. But then I think about it, and there really isn't anything keeping us from hanging out.

"Well, I do have to go grocery shopping in preparation for Jordan's visit. Do you want to come with?"

"Absolutely, I do," he replies. He stands up from his chair and as he does so, his muscles ripple in his arms. It makes my cheeks flush and I squirm a little in my chair, embarrassed that I blushed. He doesn't seem to notice, and only takes my hand in his own and pulls me off the couch. I stand, and run to grab my shoes from my room.

* * *

We walk the aisles of the grocery stores, while Clary grabs items she needs along with items she know Jordan will like. Occasionally she sends me off to grab something that she says, in her own words, "are too far away for her", much like she just did. I'm headed off to grab paper towels and toilet paper. The brand with the dog on it, she'd said.

Despite the fact that she sends me parading around like a little errand boy, I love hanging out with Clary. She's just so easy to be around, and I feel as though everything in the world becomes more honest when she's there. That and she is just such a strange bird. And I mean that in the most endearing way possible, she's just so peculiar. She lives in Portland, the self-proclaimed city of bicycles and says she doesn't like them. She doesn't even own one! Which led to a funny scene in the parking lot of our building a little while ago. I had run inside my flat to grab my bike and when I came out she was sitting in her car.

"What is that?" we had yelled at each other in unison.

I take my bike everywhere, it's just habit. And she somehow doesn't own a bicycle. I had trudged with my bike back into my flat and locked the doors before grudgingly climbing into her little car.

"Do you know how big the carbon footprint of this thing is? You're destroying the environment," I had told her exasperatedly. But she had just fired them right back at me.

"Yeah, but at least I'm safer. The bicycle fatalities have increased almost three-fold in Portland since 2006. Also, how am I supposed to carry groceries home on a tiny little metal rod with wheels?" Her ears had turned pink when she'd gotten exasperated, and without noticing I'm sure she kept tugging on the same lock of her hair. She'd reach for it up over her shoulder and back toward the nape of her neck and then tug it close and absentmindedly twirl it around her finger. It was extremely cute.

She was also, I noticed once we got on the road, an exceptionally good driver. She was so focused but also looked so comfortable. She seemed very much in her element there. And if what she had told me about her drawing and painting was true then it made sense. She liked to be in control. Not in a domineering, lead a revolution type of way, because that could easily get away from you. She likes to be in control in the most intimate of situations, where her control could not be challenged or questioned.

She likes to be in control of herself.

I grab the toilet paper and paper towels and start heading back over to the produce. She smiles at me when she sees me, and it's like the moon appears in a starry night, its radiant light blocking out that of all the stars around it, until it's swimming in solitude against the blackness. I smile back immediately and her smile reshapes into a small crescent, decorated by blushing cheeks. It makes me smile just a little bit bigger, just like it had when she'd blushed at me on her couch.

I had tried to play it off nonchalantly at the time, but I did see the layer of crimson hiding under her blanket of freckles as she took my hand. It made my heart feel weird and fluttery. God damn, I have a crush.

What is this, the fucking first grade?

I need to get over myself.

* * *

Jace even helped me carry the groceries inside when we got back. I unloaded them into the fridge and their various cupboards as he carried them up from the car. this was of course after he had also paid for half the groceries. He had originally tried to pay for all of them, to which I had stomped my foot and thrown a hissy fit. I was not going to let him buy my groceries. I then tried to buy them all, rightfully (they were _my groceries_ after all), to which he threatened to pop all the tires in my car. His exact words were "Fine, buy your groceries. But I won't be the one helping you carry them home on two feet."

So we had made a compromise. Both fuming at the other, and the cashier looking entirely amused, he paid for half. "You two are such a cute couple," the cashier had remarked after the groceries had all been loaded back into the cart.

Nobody talked the whole drive home.

But once we had arrived back home, it was like the veil of awkwardness had been dissolved and we were both back to ourselves.

I finish putting away the last bag of groceries, and turn around. Jace is nowhere to be seen. Where could he have gone?

"Jace?" I call, "You still here?"

"Back here!" He calls. It sounds like his voice is coming from... The guest room!

"You're not in the guest room, are you? _Please_ tell me you're not in the guest room," I plead. When he doesn't reply it only solidifies what I seemed to already know. I run and stop at the doorway to find him standing there with one of my sketchbooks in his hands. He's flipping through the pages like he owns the place.

He looks up at me and an admiring smile graces his features. "These are really good," he says to me.

"No shit Sherlock, I didn't get into art school because of my impressive yodeling technique. Why did you come in here? This isn't yours to look at." My eyebrows are furrowed and my voice keeps catching on the lump in my throat.

Leave it to me to never be able to get angry without crying.

I can already feel the hot tears threatening to spill. I snatch the sketchbook from his hands and snap it closed furiously.

"Woah, woah, please don't be mad. I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries. I was going to put the toilet paper in the bathroom and I just saw it on my way back. I shouldn't have touched it. I'm really sorry."

"No, it's okay it's just really personal and I don't like sharing my art very much. It's like a document of all of my emotions and my feelings and my past and it's like a diary to me. It's just really hard for me to let people in like that."

Of course my tears pick that moment to spill over. Before the first one has even left my cheek, Jace has wrapped his arms around me. His body is so warm and his sweatshirt is like a barrier of softness protecting me from the hard plain of his chest. He smells like pine and coffee beans and clouds and books.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

I try to tell him it's okay but suddenly there are so many tears blocking the path of my words. They started out as angry tears and now they're just meaningless. They're just a streak of emotion that I can't contain.

He rests the surface of his cheek on the top of my head and holds me there in my little makeshift art studio until my eyes run dry.

* * *

**-katethewriter**


	8. High School Fucking Musical

**Okay so I told a couple of you like 30 minutes ago that it would be somewhere between Tuesday and Thursday. But I got really fucking impatient and so I posted today. Like I was sitting here fixing my profile (which you should all check out btw) and it was just so tempting and I had already uploaded it and I just couldn't wait.**

**I'm feeling super great about this one, just let me know. I love Jace's POV. It's just so fun to write and I think it is more versatile in that he can be complex and sweet and then talk about his giant dong or Max shitting his pants like two seconds later. I don't know. **

**Once again, unbeta'd. It's really shitty trying to beta from a phone. It's like trying to compete in a horse race while riding on a lizard; it's not impossible but its fucking difficult. Go check out IWriteNaked though. She's pretty fucking cool.**

* * *

After a little while, Clary stops crying. I continue to hold her after her sniffles have subsided. I can't believe I made her cry. I'm such a fucking idiot. God damn me and my incessant need to ruin perfectly good things.

She mumbles something against my chest that sounds something like, "Great."

"Hmm?" I ask her, moving my head from its point atop hers so that I can look at her.

"Now, not only am I the weird neighbor girl who threw up on you, but I'm also the weird neighbor girl who cried on you after you bought her groceries."

I scoff at her. "Yeah, but doesn't that make me the womanizing next door neighbor whose sister yelled at you and then invaded your privacy and personal space?" She exhales a giggle and rests her forehead back against my chest.

"What an exciting duo we are, huh?"

"Indeed," I reply.

* * *

After Clary had dried her eyes, I had offered to buy takeout for the two of us. After arguing about her paying all or the possibility of going half in, we decided she would buy, and I'd pay tip and do dishes. It didn't strike me until at least a full minute later that this was extremely unfair, especially since I was originally going to pay for it all _and_ do dishes. But by that time we had already pinky promised to seal the deal and I knew there was no going back.

Clary reaches into one of the drawers in her kitchen and pulls out a stack of take-out menus. The food ranges from Mexican to Chinese to Japanese to Thai to Italian. "I'm feeling like either Chinese or pizza. But if it's pizza it has to be from Luigi's because their crust is extra thick."

"So you prefer it thick?" I ask with a smirk. "I can accommodate for that."

She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me. "Chinese or pizza, dickwad. We don't have all day here."

"Alright fine, I pick Chinese."

She reaches into the stack and grabs the menu for the local hole-in-the-wall Chinese place. It's the kind of restaurant that only has two small tables inside because nobody would really want to be seen stuffing their face with that shit in public. And it's my favorite.

Clary rips a sheet of paper off the notepad magnetized to the front of her fridge and grabs a red pen out of the cup on the countertop.

_Chicken fried rice_

_Orange chicken_

_Chicken chow mein_

_Mongolian beef_

They're all written in her red script before I can even open my mouth. I only have one thing to add to her list: "Eggrolls," I say.

"But of course," she replies and adds them to the list quickly. She has uniquely beautiful handwriting. It's very casual, evidencing the standard handwriting that all girls seem to conform to in their middle school years, but there are subtle hints of more cursive-y styles. Her e's all swoop into the next letters and her g's make a little curl around their own tails. It, like almost everything else about her, is extremely endearing.

She grabs her cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and unlocks it. She scrolls through the dozen or so contacts in her favorites list and clicks one. The number comes up and within seconds they answer.

"Hey, Lee." A quick pause. "Yeah, it's me Clary." Another moment of silence save for the indistinct buzzing of the other persons talking. "No, I'll just have the usual, but can I get a second order of the Eggrolls and fried rice? I've got a friend over." Clary smiles at something said on the other end of the phone and looks over at me. "No, we are just friends. And we will _definitely_ be needing two pairs of chopsticks. Thank you!"

"I take it you frequent this place," I chuckle.

Her pale skin goes red under her freckles in that blush that I'm finding myself growing quite fond of. "What, you're not on a first name basis with all the employees at China's Garden?" She jokes.

While we wait for the food to arrive, she throws on her TV. We start scrolling through the channels pretty much aimlessly until we come across one we can't skip past. "New Years Eve" the letters across the bottom read. A shot of a girl reading in a lodge.

"No fucking way," I say.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." She scoots forward in her chair just as the shot cuts to a boy in a red jersey and his dad playing basketball. The gym floor is shining and the sky outside is dark.

"_Come on Troy, lay up, lay up!" _The dad yells to the son.

"It's High School fucking Musical," we say in unison.

We are in absolute enraptured awe until the doorbell rigs as Ms. Darbus makes her first appearance. Clary offers to just get it, but I insist that we answer together. When we do, Clary in the front and me standing a few feet behind her, the delivery man just looks at her, then points at me and laughs.

"Just friends?" He asks in a high-pitched voice with some kind of heavy accent. He's practically doubled over in laughter. "Just friends my ass!"

"Alright, you know what Lee? He's the one in charge of paying your tip so I would change my attitude if I were you," Clary says, trying to sound firm. He only laughs harder. Clary genuinely does seem angry, and I want to take her side n this one but Lee's laugh is just so goddamn high-pitched and contagious that what starts as a bubble of laughter in my throat quickly turns into the two of us doubled over with Clary looking exasperated and pissed.

"Jace what the honest fuck are you laughing at?" She says, frowning down at me.

"I have no holy idea," I howl back from my spot on the goddamn floor. Am I a sixth grade girl? First I'm watching high school musical and next I'm giggling on the floor. God have mercy.

"Jace, get up. Come on. Or I'll send you home and eat all this Chinese food by myself." She doesn't seem genuinely pissed, more like a little bit irked mixed with 400% done.

And even though I know she isn't remotely serious, I take a deep breath to quell the laughter and stand up. Lee is wiping literal fucking tears from his eyes. He holds out the bag of takeout boxes and I reach forward and grab it from him.

"That will be $37.50," Lee manages to get out between wheezes. Clary pulls out 38 bucks and I grab a ten from my wallet.

Lee looks me up and down, grinning, and then says to Clary, "Have fun with your 'just friend'." He even uses air quotes, to which Clary flips him off. He walks away cackling and Clary shuts the door.

I smirk at her as she brushes by, jolting my shoulder in what can only be a purposeful bump. I let out another breathy laugh and follow her back to the couch.

Clary sits with her chin resting upon her knees, her legs tucked up on the seat. Rather than sitting in my usual spot on her big chair, I grab the spot next to her on the couch.

Her living room speaks so loudly of her character. The pieces were all undoubtedly grabbed from garage sales or thrift stores or second-hand furniture shops. They all have exactly nothing in common, but each one fits so perfectly with every other piece that it's hard to believe they didn't all come from the same set. She has red plaid blankets and a few grandma-esque quilts draped across the pieces (an old oak armoire with her TV in it; the large, plush, dark brown chair that I frequent; the three-top, dark green couch; and the black lacquered coffee table strewn with various weathered books). I set the bag of food down on the coffee table. We made it back to the movie just in time for Gabriella's bitchy penmanship comment.

"Honestly, I can't stand Gabriella. I've never really liked her," Clary says with her nose wrinkled.

"Why? Isn't she just like a perfect character? She's smart and independent and focused on school and loves to read and forms all her own opinions."

"Well on the surface, yes." While talking, Clary grabs one of the fleece blankets from behind her and throws it over the two of us. I smile. "Until you look a bit closer and realize that she's not really any of those things. Yeah, she's smart but she resents that aspect of herself while simultaneously full of herself. And she acts focused on school until a boy shows interest in her and then she's just a one-note loser."

"I'm sensing some underlying resentment," I kid.

She laughs. I adjust the blanket on my legs and scoot a bit closer to Clary so it won't be so strained across the couch. The space between our legs seems to fizzle with electricity.

"You realize that we've known each other for what, three days? And already you're inviting me in and draping blankets over the two of us. I could be a murderer you know," I say to her.

"Well the thought crossed my mind but then I realized that all the girls who have ever gone into your apartment have come back out the next morning. So I imagine I'll be okay. By the way, you've got to invest in a new bed frame. That shit squeaks like no other." She smiles at me as she reaches into the bag for both pairs of chopsticks and the box of chow mein. She hands me one of the chopstick sleeves and opens up the box.

"Well pardon me, Clary I-can't-listen-to-music-unless-my-stereo-is-on-full-volume Fray."

"You know you love my music taste though, it's basically perfect," she says back to me. She reaches in and takes a bite of chow mein then holds the box out in my direction. I grab a bite and then I shake my head.

"I honestly can't even argue with that one," I admit. Because I can't. Her music is great. "But does my bed really squeak that much?"

"Uh, yeah," she says as though it's entirely obvious. "You sure seem to need a lot of company too." I blush a bit and look down at my lap with a chuckle.

"Well, it's not necessarily my fault. I can't go out in public without some girl begging to see a little more of my perfect bod," I recover. She throws one hand over her eyes with a laugh.

"What, do they just line up?" She laughs.

"No," I admit. "It's more like one at a time they say 'Oh Jace, just take me now on this sidewalk for all I care. If I don't see your giant raging dong I might die!' And who would I be to say no to someone like that in need?" For my imitation I throw my voice up at least two octaves. She covers her mouth with her hand and laughs.

"Well, of course, you being the gentleman just say, 'Of course, baby. Follow me back to my squeaky ass bed where we can make love with my giant dong.'" She drops her own voice down to a gravelly, egotistical, bass-range timbre when she imitates me.

"I can't help it if I have mass amounts of extremely pleasurable sex. I'm just giving back what I can to the community."

"Oh yeah 'pleasurable'. Whoever you had over last night sure knew how to make some noise," Clary remarks with a mischievous smile and raised eyebrows.

"I didn't-I haven't had any-nobody was-" I stutter, trying to figure out what she's talking about, "oh." I huff out a breath and she looks at me, suddenly nervous by my reaction.

"If I hit some kind of nerve, I didn't mean to I was just-"

"No, it's cool. I guess looking back its kind of a funny story." She angles her slight body more towards me, getting ready for the monologue I'm about to launch into. "So I'm dating this girl for a few months, right? Her names Kaelie."

* * *

**All 2100 words of this are 100% Jace. And I love it.**

**-katethewriter**

**P.S. If any of you guys wanted to see me on any platforms other than fanfiction, I have started a pinterest board titled The (Somewhat) Chance Encounter. I got this idea from Ash (IWriteNaked) and so far I have only pinned little pictures of how I pictured the respective characters. I'm currently looking for a Kaelie, Sebastian, and Jon, so be on the lookout for those. **

**P.P.S. You can also find me on tumblr as "graknowla". My blog isn't in any way related to this story, but it's funny and littered with feminist rants. I would really appreciate it if you guys went and checked it out!**


	9. Little Knocks

**Hi hi!**

**This chapter has been sponsored by : Spotify, hot coffee, and Walk the Moon. Honestly if I didn't have my little Moon Walkers, this story wouldn't have made it anywhere near this far.**

**Unbeta'd again, but don't forget to check out IWriteNaked! I'm obsessed with Reckless Abandon, but she also has a fic about a polyandrous Clary which is something so badass I wish I had thought of it myself.**

**Don't forget to check out my pinterest (same name as on here) and my tumblr (graknowla).**

* * *

He told me the whole story of his last relationship, stopping every few details to take a few bites of the food.

And from the first moment honestly, I could tell this relationship would be a flop. They had met in a club and hooked up and she convinced him that they should get together more often. Basically she requested to be his booty call. And then she had convinced him that they should be exclusive. From there it had just been a string of her demanding more of him and not giving anything in return.

I sat, splitting my attention mostly between Jace's story and the fried rice nestled between my crossed legs. It's the best goddamn fried rice on this coast. It's so shitty, with the frozen peas and carrots and the MSG so plentiful that you pee orange for weeks after eating it. But the butter and soy sauce and the rice and the little pieces of deep fried chicken and the best part of all-the bacon. It's so fucking good. You don't find fried rice with bacon in it that often, but when you do you know it's a winner. When he finishes his diatribe, ending with the dick-pillow incident, I realize what a dick I was for bringing up something like that. But I also feel a weight lifting off my chest. I'm such a selfish loser, I'm happy that it wasn't _Jace_ enjoying himself in his own apartment, but his bitch ex.

"Well that is some shit right there."

"Yep." He reaches over into the spot right between my legs and grabs the fried rice out of it.

"That was like, in my crotch just now," I remind him.

"I noticed."

"And you're just going to eat it?"

"This is the best fried rice in town. Maybe in this state. Maybe on this coast. Crotch or no crotch I'm going to eat some of it."

I look up to the screen with a smile on my lips. Already it's the scene in the greenhouse. I always thought they'd kiss in this scene, it would be so romantic. I'd love to be kissed in a greenhouse. It'd be so beautiful, with all the exotic flowers and plants lighting up all around. I had this little dream once, back when I had that giant crush on Jordan, where he had taken me into this indoor garden. It was my birthday and he brought me into this garden and all around were these beautiful flowers and he led me up to the top of a spiraling iron staircase and it was just so beautiful and we sat up there and he watched with me as a flower bloomed and then he kissed me. It was basically everything a highschool freshman girl could have wanted.

Thinking about my little fantasy kiss reminds me of the conversation with Jace the other day when he had told me about his fantasy.

With _Gabriella_.

Holy shit.

"So Jace, what's it like watching a movie starring the girl you'd fantasize about?"

He looks at me and laughs, no doubt revisiting the conversation too. "Well I'd have to say it's a little disappointing. This movie is much more PG than I would prefer." I smile and shake my head at him. "I mean, in my fantasy - at least during the parts when she was clothed - she was wearing this skin tight red dress and black heels and it was just so fucking hot. And here she's wearing like frilly cardigans and jeans with embroidered butterflies on them. It's just not the same."

He gives me this lopsided grin that makes my whole body feel warm.

We watch the rest of the movie mostly in silence, and at the end Jace stands up and grabs the boxes. The minute he stand up my legs feel cold, the electric energy just flowing between our legs now gone.

There's still half a box of the beef and the orange chicken, but the eggrolls, chow mein, and fried rice are long gone. He throws the empty boxes away and puts the other two in the fridge. Once everything is cleaned up, he comes back and sits down. He doesn't bother putting the blanket back on.

"Funny. Everyone keeps thinking we're a couple. First the woman at the coffee shop who took our order and then my sister did and the cashier at the grocery store and Lee from China's Garden," Jace says.

"My brother did too!" I say laughing.

"I think your friend Simon was starting to suspect something."

"Oh, that would explain why he was acting so weird! I couldn't figure it out before. But now I get it, he was probably upset that I didn't tell him first or anything like that."

"Somehow I don't think that was it, Clary," Jace says to me.

"What do you mean?" I ask, now even more confused by his cryptic answer.

"I think Simon was jealous."

"What? Are you kidding? Simon wouldn't be jealous. He has been in plenty of relationships in the last few years."

"He's not jealous that you're in a relationship and he's not, he's jealous that you're in a relationship and its not with him!"

It's too strange a theory for me to think about, but as it roots itself in my brain it starts to make a lot of sense. Flustered, I say, "Regardless, I'm not in a relationship so it doesn't matter."

"A lot of people seem to think you are," Jace says in an oddly clipped tone. "Goodnight, Clary."

And without another word he heads back to his own place. I sit on the couch for an indeterminable amount of time, just trying to process the situation with Simon. It makes too much sense for me to discredit it, even though that's all I really want to do.

And what was with Jace's weird goodbye? After I've sat so long that my legs have fallen asleep, I pat them awake and stand up. I brush my teeth, throw on my pajamas and crack open all the windows.

It's a weird thing of mine, I can't sleep when the windows are closed. I always feel stuffed and it's too warm. I've been sleeping with them open as long as I can really remember, but it's become so much more enjoyable since I moved here.

In New York it was always so loud, which I didn't mind necessarily at the time. It wasn't until I moved out here that I realized how quiet the night could really be. Most nights all I hear is the occasional passing of a car or a laugh and the rain. The constant, pouring rain. Sometimes it will subside to dull drizzles, but it seems to always be there. Just like that feeling of lightness seems to always be there when I'm with Jace.

It's so puzzling. And so pleasant.

And I love it.

In a gesture that is both silly and embarrassing, I reach my hand up above my head from its spot on the pillow and knock on the wall. I do it without even really thinking. Three evenly spaced little knocks. Not quite quiet but not at all loud. Immediately embarrassed with myself, I pull my blanket up to my forehead. I can't believe I fucking did that. I'm going to look like such a loser.

I just wanted to show him somehow that he was on my mind. That he's almost always on my mind now.

In my moment of mortification I contemplate moving away so I won't have to show my dorky face to Jace ever again.

Until three resounding knocks come back from the other side of the wall.

I smile like the fucking idiot that I am and close my eyes.

That night I dream of the garden kiss I dreamt about so many years ago. Only this time it's not Jordan leading me up the iron staircase, it's Jace.

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**Hope you liked it! I know it's taking forever to get to Jordan's arrival, but it will be here very soon! And so will their little get-together with the friends. I tried to not-so-subtlely sneak in their canon first kiss, even though that's not how it will happen here (spoiler alert I guess).**

**Let me know what you think in a review!**

**-katethewriter**


	10. Lunch with Snookums

**I'm so sorry it's been so long, you guys. I really am. I don't even have an excuse. **

**But hey! A few things that happened to me while we were gone:**

_\- I went on a date with a semi-cute boy and accidentally totally dissed him and then he sulked while I apologized for an hour_

_\- I won awards for two of my photos (which are now both going to be judged on a national level! woooo!)_

_\- My best friend moved to another state :(_

_\- I am moving on to the next level in my school's Poetry Out Loud competition_

_\- I sang the national anthem in front of my school_

_\- I lost fifteen pounds! (technically that's since October but it's still really cool)_

_\- I improved my driving skills and got a car_

**So as you can see, I had an exciting month and a half! Most of you will have not read that and that's totally okay. Part of my New Year's Resolution list is to start applauding myself more for simple things happening in my life, and to acknowledge and move past the hard things. I won't do one of these status updates for every chapter, because I imagine a lot of people will hate this, but maybe every so often I'll do one.**

**This chapter isn't super exciting or anything, but I happen to think that it's fairly cute and you get to see a little bit more into their individual lives. **

**I've gotten a few complaints about how I'm giving Simon the shaft in this story and I recognize it and I'm sorry! Simon is actually my favorite character in the Shadowhunter universe. I love him with all my heart. And I realize that he's moody and flighty and a jerk right now, and that will continue for a few more chapters, but ultimately he will be really rad, just like he is in the books. **

**Thank you to all of my guest reviewers, I so wish I could thank each and every one of you individually. **

**This one is un-beta'd again, because it's been so long since I last asked IWriteNaked to beta and frankly now I'm too shy. If you're reading this, Ash, let me know when you have a computer again because I don't want to inconvenience you with phone beta'ing. **

Okay also to clear things up: in this chapter, any time a line starts with a dash, that is an individual text. **Clary is bold**, Jace is without formatting. Okay. Cool.

**Happy Reading!**

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When I wake up the next morning I feel extremely refreshed. I would categorize it as some of the best sleep I've gotten in a while, despite not falling asleep until early into the morning. I just tossed and turned with her on my mind.

Her red hair and its soft curls, her white smile with the one little dimple, her forest green eyes that shine emerald in the sun. Everything about her is beautiful. And it doesn't hurt that she is smart and funny and unafraid to break the flow of her own life. I feel like I sync with her on so many different levels, levels I never thought anyone else would understand. I find myself revealing parts of myself to her with no hesitation, not even a spare glance. I've never been that guy, the one who shares like that. I've always been reserved. But somehow she brings out parts of me that have been lying dormant for so long. She makes me feel worthy and thrumming with emotion and inspiration and life. She's a loud, shouting laugh in an otherwise silent room.

And I like all of her. Every aspect of her that I uncover only makes me more enraptured. I am digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole, and If I don't watch out it'll soon be some sort of pit.

* * *

Work today was uncharacteristically busy. I work at Powell's, the insanely massive, 68,000 square foot bookstore. I run the counter in the "pearl section" which focuses on art and art history and music and culture. It sounds fairly boring to most, but I honestly find it thrilling. So many people come up to me with so many questions about so many books pertaining to so many things. In the morning a few days ago, someone asked me where to find the biography on a lover of an impressionist painter, and only an hour later someone was looking for a vintage brochure for Le Louvre, and an hour after that someone came up looking to find a book about the constructions of the pyramids. All before my lunch break. I only work three days a week, but my hours are pretty long when I do go in. 8 am to midnight. Granted, I get a lunch and a dinner break, as well as little snack breaks every other hour besides. Which I honestly don't need because there are very few people who go all the way to the top floor to visit my section. I usually sit behind my desk and sketch on the little notepads they provide.

But I guess today was another story.

There was a constant stream of around 30 people, and everyone seemed to have questions. I haven't held a fake smile for that long in ages.

Exhausted, I prop my feet up on the coffee table and sip at my hot chocolate. I reach down next to me and grab my sketchbook off the couch and open it up.

I haven't been able to sketch just for myself in longer than I can remember. Most of my art has been commissioned lately. There hasn't been much time for me to just draw what I want.

Suddenly inspired, I hop off the couch and with silent sock feet I pad down to my art room where I grab a 2B out of a cup. I take it back to the living room and sit down on what I now consider Jace's chair. It's been less than a week and he already has a designated chair. Good Lord.

I flip to a blank page and begin to sketch, letting the beauty of the subject flow from the pencil and pour on the page like a pot of perfectly steeped tea, steaming and fluid.

I watch the page come to life, going from the beautiful simplicity of the white canvas to the beautiful complexity of Jace.

I sketch first the strong shape of his jaw, then his defined nose. Drawing him is harder than drawing anything else for some reason. I feel like there's more pressure on me, that to incorrectly capture the raw beauty of his face would be like a betrayal to him and myself and everything around me. Beauty deserves to be appreciated.

After his nose, I draw his eyes. Good God, his eyes. They are so difficult to capture. So many shades, glints, weaves of color. His eyelashes are long and curled and fucking gorgeous. I draw in the long tendrils of his hair, allowing my pencil to sweep down the page with grace. They are messy and bedraggled and yet still perfect. I allow some imaginary light source to bounce off the locks on top, creating the illusion of a halo of light around his head. The page glows with the fires of heaven.

Except that it doesn't. Not like Jace does. Even a Studio Art degree can't help capture Jace in all his glory.

Sighing, I toss my sketchbook on to the coffee table and stand. I head to my room, open the windows and lie down. The clock reads 1:30, yet I still knock on the wall. Like I expected, there isn't an answer. Jace is probably sleeping. I turn over and try to do the same. My eyelids are drooping and sleep is beginning to take over, the familiar heaviness of it dragging me down like the undertow of a long, wet expanse of beach. Just as the sounds of the world are beginning to wash away like the kelp-y tide, I hear two little knocks.

* * *

I think I heard her knock.

But it was so light that I'm not sure. I don't want to knock first if she didn't knock.

Maybe she''s not even awake and I'm just imagining it. I mean, why would she be up at 1:30?

And even if she was would she really knock again? She probably just wanted that to be a one time thing.

But what if she didn't want it to be a one-time thing, and she just knocked again and I'm leaving her hanging and she thinks I hate her?

But what if she doesn't want me to knock back so I just seem like a weird clingy freak?

What if she isn't even knocking? What if she's having passionate sex with someone hotter than me and that's just the sound of her bed frame knocking into the wall?

Or what if it's _worse_: what is if it's someone _less hot_? I shudder and take a deep breath.

I glance over at the clock. It's 1:41. I have been debating this for eleven minutes. God, I'm such a fucking moron.

I throw my motto of "better safe than sorry out the window" and reach my hand up over my head.

"Fuck it," I say as I knock twice.

* * *

**Clary (10 Messages)**

**-I hate cleaning. **

**-Cleaning is pointless.**

**-If God is real, do you think this is how he meant us to live?**

**-Wasting our lives away in some effort to make other people think our lives are more orderly than they are?**

**-My life is about as orderly as a pile of dog shit.**

**-So why do I clean to pretend it's not?**

**-Jordan and I used to have contests to see whose farts were better. Why should I have to clean for him now?**

**-I'm quitting. I shouldn't have to put up with this.**

**-Update: I just found an old Easy Mac container under my couch. The inside is green. **

**-I'm going to finish cleaning.**

I laugh to myself at my desk and look up to the clock on the wall. 11:24.

-I have my lunch break in about 35 minutes.

-You want to meet at Luigi's?

-**God, yes. Anything to get me away from this hell.**

We meet up right outside the restaurant and head in together. A shaggy, acne-ridden teenager greets us at the host stand.

"Lunch date?" he asks, with an eyebrow quirk and a voice crack. It seems as though he was trying to be smooth and it just flopped. Kind of like the mop on his head I assume he calls his hair.

"Just lunch," Clary quickly replies with a glance up at me. "We're just having lunch."

The greasy blob of a boy rakes his eyes over Clary after hearing her implied denial of a relationship. The way he looks at her makes me want to punch him in his inferior, pubescent dick.

Instead, I shove my hands into my pockets and give him the scariest glare I can muster. It works, because as soon as he meets my eyes, he goes pale and gulps loudly.

"Right this way," he says, with his eyes locked onto the floor. He walks us to the back and sits us down in a dark green booth with a red checkered table cloth. He sets two lunch menus down and scurries off.

Clary is still blushing, presumably from the little date comment. She always gets so weird when people insinuate. I don't quite understand it. I mean, if I saw two stunningly gorgeous people dressed similarly and hitting public spots together, I would either assume they were a couple or they were brother and sister. But with our conflicting features, it'd be absurd to even think for a second that we could be siblings. By how I feel about her already, thinking we were siblings would be hell. And gross. Ew. Ugh.

I look up, pretty sure that Clary has just asked me a question that I was unable to hear over my utter disgust.

"Hmm?" I ask.

She breathes out a laugh. "I said 'Are you okay?' You look like you just swallowed a lemon." She's got a smile on her face and her eyebrows are knitted up into her forehead in confusion.

"No, yeah I'm fine. I was just thinking about how many people in the world will die without having experienced the euphoria that is being near my massive dong, and it just really makes me sad."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure that's a downer for you," Clary says in mock sympathy with her lip pouting. "Now can we not talk about your genitalia and instead order some food?"

"What are you in the mood for?" I ask, dropping the subject.

"I'm thinking Chicken Parmesan and some caesar salad," she says, her eyes scrolling up and down the menu.

"That's one of your favorite foods, isn't it? I just remember you saying something like that the other day." I'm really hoping she doesn't think it's weird that I remember that. I didn't even know I did remember that, she just mentioned it and it suddenly popped into my head.

"Yeah it is, actually. That's cool that you remember that," she says, blushing. Whew. "I really love it, but I don't eat it very often because I almost only ever go out to eat with Simon and he's a vegetarian so he reads me the riot act every time I order it."

"Well I love it too. So there's no pushback from me," I tell her. She smiles at me from across the table and I smile back. God, she's cute.

"Hi, I'm Tatiana," the waitress interrupts our table-eye-contact-with-cute-smiling to announce, "and I'll be your server today. What can I get for you to drink?" the waitress's voice is smooth, but overly sweet, like runny caramel, the kind that sticks to your teeth and fingers and clothes and you can never seem to get it all off. Tatiana looks at me but I extend my hand to Clary. She orders a Sprite and I order a Diet Coke. The waiters lingers an extra second too long, like she's waiting for something else, but then turns around and files away.

Clary and I converse as we wait for drinks, and when they arrive we order lunch. Once the waitress has left again we talk about Jordan's arrival tonight, which we're both excited for.

"I got the house mostly clean, and I was planning on cleaning out the art room for him to sleep in. But the day got away from me and I just don't think I'll have time. I'll probably just have him sleep in my room and I'll take the couch or something. I mean, I've known him my whole life for Christ's sakes."

"That's cool. What are you two doing for dinner?" I ask her.

"Whenever he would come over when we were kids, my mom would make this homemade mac and cheese. It was outrageously good and basically just the perfect comfort food. It was cheesy and melts and delicious without being overly creamy and the flavor a were sharp and nutty but also warm and soft. It's indescribable, honestly." Her eyes are alight and she's talking with her hands, making these round, grand gestures. She doesn't really do that unless she's talking about something dear or passionate to her. "Jordan always used to ask my mom to make it when we were little, and told me a few years ago that it was his favorite food he could remember from his childhood. So I emailed my mom and got her recipe and I'm going to make it tonight. That's why I had those like twelve different kinds of cheese yesterday morning, she finishes with a smile."

"Oh, okay. That makes a lot more sense now. I was heading out for work and opened my door and you were there trying to get into your flat with a grocery bag full of just cheese. And not regular cheese, like fancy cheese-counter cheese."

"Yeah, I had to go and, being the uncultured youth that I am, ask the man behind the counter what each cheese was and how to find it. I kept pronouncing by them wrong too. And he was giving me that look of utmost pity and I was just struggling so much. I enjoy cheese, very much, but I enjoy to _eat_ the cheese, not to talk about it."

"Well that's really sweet of you, to go to such lengths for him," I tell her. Because it's true.

"Well, I really do consider him to be my best friend. He's my oldest friend at least. And for a while there I would have called Simon my best friend, especially when I first moved out here. But I don't know, being away from Manhattan has put this weird strain on my relationship with Simon. And even though he moved out here and everything, it's just been weird. And I've been thinking about what you said the other night and everything..." Her voice trails off to barely a whisper and she looks down into her lap. "I don't know. I just, my relationship with Simon's been a little rocky. But no matter how long I'm away from Jordan, and no matter how much time there is between our calls and Skypes, it's like no time has passed. And he know more about me than anyone else I know. I love him so much. He's more of a brother to me at times than Jonathan is. I would do anything for him."

We both sit there for a second, stunned by the sudden monologue. I take a long sip of my soda and when I set it back down, the food arrives.

Clary has chicken Parmesan and a salad, and I have the spaghetti and meatballs with a cup of minestrone soup. The waitress sets down two extra plates as well, as we had told her we had wanted to share. "You guys are such a cute couple," she says. "You're both so lucky."

Clary laughs uncomfortably. "No, it's not like that."

The waitress gives me the once over that the teen up front had earlier given Clary. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clary notice it too, her eyes narrowing and fist clenching around her fork. I don't particularly like the way she's looking at me, so I lean across the table and wrap my hand around Clary's and say to her, "What, are you embarrassed of me, sweetheart?" For a split second she looks at me like I'm insane, but I wink at her and she beams back.

"Sometimes, it just seems so unreal to me that someone like you could fall for someone like me, _Snookums_" she says, gushing with fake admiration. I remove one of my hands to bop her nose with my finger and she giggles. I look up, pretending to just be remembering the waitress's presence.

I'm being a total dick and I know it, but the look on her face is a little satisfying. Her nose is scrunched up into her face, making her look a bit like a sock puppet.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she says with a voice full of disdain and never once relaxing her face.

Once she is out of earshot, Clary bursts into fits of laughter.

"Did you call me _Snookums?" _I ask, a grin plastered onto my face. Clary's face is red and twisted up with laughter, and she can't take a breath big enough to answer, so she just nods. Her chest is still bouncing with giggles as she sinks down into the booth until she is lying down, sucking in large breaths of air and fanning her face, tears pooling at the outer corners of her eyes.

"You bopped my nose!" Clary says breathlessly. "That was definitely the highlight of my day."

"The nose bopping was the highlight of your day? How sweet," I coo.

"No, you eggplant," she swats my arm from across the table. "The look on that waitress's face."

"It was pretty great, wasn't it?"

She nods and laughs to herself again before grabbing her fork and starting in on her salad. I take my fork and shovel half of my dish onto one of the spare plates and pass it to her, and she does the same.

"You know you liked it when I called you Sweetheart," I tease her. She looks up at me, and even her facial expression is dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, you do read me well, Snookums."

* * *

**Next chapter is Jordan's arrival! And that is a promise. It won't be such a long wait this time, and that is also a promise. **

**Please don't forget to review!**


	11. Mini Marshmallows with My Big Dork

**Hey everyone! **

**CAN YOU BELIEVE IT WE BROKE A HUNDRED REVIEWS I ACTUALLY CRIED I WAS SO ECSTATIC THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO'S READ, REVIEWED, FAVORITED, FOLLOWED YOU GUYS ALL MEAN THE WORLD TO ME THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THIS SUCH A COOL PART OF MY LIFE.**

**Sorry it's been a little while again, but I happen to very much like this chapter. Next chapter shouldn't be too long, but it might be another two week break. I don't know, I do have a three-day weekend so we'll see. **

**Don't forget to check me out on tumblr as**_ graknowla_** (get it, it's like granola but with know instead of no?), twitter as **_coffeemugged_** and on instagram as **_katelillywalters _**If anyone wants my snapchat just send me a PM. I fill my snapchat story with artsy pictures of the Pacific Northwest and bad puns. I love conversations with strangers actually and would so love it if you reached out to me!**

**ugh okay this is the third edit i've made to my author's note, but I also want to let you know that I have pictures of all our main characters so far, as well as Clary's airport sign (which you will read about in like two minutes) up on my pinterest. My pinterest name should be**_ katethewriter_** as well, but if you can't find me, the board is called _The (Somewhat) Chance Encounter_ \- surprise, surprise right? Thanks to Lauren Vaughan ****for checking out the posts! :)**

**I love hearing from you guys, and have tried responding to every review, but if I missed you I'm really sorry. Let me know and I'll make it up to you with a shout out or something :)**

* * *

I stand among the small crowd of people at the airport, some of them holding signs and others just waiting. After much deliberation earlier, I am now one of the former. I've checked the flight tracker about a dozen times, and know that he must have landed a few minutes ago. Now all there's really left to do is wait. I'm so excited I might pee in my pants. Jordan will be here, standing in front of me, fully huggable, in the next few minutes. I imagine I'm beaming, and I can't quite tell if that's why people keep smiling at me or if it's because of the hand-made sign I hold above my head. Inspiration had struck earlier, and I couldn't help but make it. I grabbed a piece of poster paper I had sitting in my room and some water colors and gotten to work after my lunch with Jace today. It had taken me an hour or so, but it was most definitely worth it. I can't wait for him to see it.

I had grabbed my batch of oranges and yellows and a purple and I had painted a big watercolor goldfish. Since typically people have names on these or something, I used acrylics to write "my big dork" in cartoon-y bubble letters across the fish. Because he was. He was my big dork and I couldn't wait to see him again.

When he stepped out in the crowd of people, our eyes met almost instantly and large smiles broke out on both of our faces. I dropped the sign to my side and started running in his direction, as he ran in mine. He dropped his bag and I jumped up onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist and arms around his neck. I place a loud kiss on his forehead and squeal, "I missed you!" His response is to hold me tighter, enveloping me in sporadic squeezes. My chin rests on the top of his head, leaving his face hidden among the tendrils of my copper hair.

This must look quite romantic to any passerby, like we're in love. And I will not deny that I love Jordan. I love Jordan with my whole, unyielding heart. But not in the away this appears, and we both know. I'm just so comfortable around him that it would be strange to behave any differently. Jordan was my closest friend growing up. He knows more about me than even Jonathan or Simon, and was there for me in the roughest time of my life. There are things about my life that he understands that I don't think anyone else ever really will.

"I missed you too, Clare-bear." With one arm still wrapped around my waist, he set me back down on the ground and picks up his bag. "I'm so glad I'm here."

"You have no idea," I tell him.

* * *

The car is warm and full of colorful conversation the whole ride home. We find a way to fit so much emotion and experience and time into the one small car you'd think it were a clown car in the circus. He tells me a condensed version of his last two years in personal, though I'd already heard it all over the phone in real time. I tell him about mine, though he knows about my two years as well as I know about his. I tell him about the incident five days ago, and how Jace came to the rescue, and that I am in fact next door neighbors with his buddy. He scoffs in surprise and says something along the lines of "no shit!" and then says that we need to all hang out.

"Oh, don't worry about that. We already have plans to—" I catch myself before I reveal the semi-surprise party, "uh, have lunch together tomorrow! There is this taco place that you _have_ to try. They are easily the best tacos I've ever had."

I point out Jace's door as we head down the hallway. I turn the keys in the door and let it swing open behind me as I walk through.

"So, I brought out an air mattress and extra blankets and stuff, but you can always take the couch if you want, I mean it's _super_ comfy, whichever you—" I'm cut off by a large thud by the door. I whip around to see Jordan staring at me with a wistful expression, the thud having been him dropping his bag down quite unceremoniously.

"You didn't, Fray." His expression never changes.

"I didn't what?" But before I can hear an answer, he crosses the room in two dizzyingly quick strides and I'm enveloped in another tight hug. I hug him back just as tightly, if a little confused. I hear him inhale, then feel the exhale through the waving hairs on top of my head..

"You made mac and cheese. You made Jocelyn's mac and cheese." It honestly sounds like there's a lump in his throat.

"How did you know?" I ask, my words partially lost in the fabric of his sweatshirt.

"I could smell it the moment I walked in. It just took me home for a minute. I could practically see your old kitchen all around me." Now it's my turn to get choked up.

"Well I just hope it tastes good," I laugh, trying to hide the sudden flare of emotion undulating across my heart.

And it does. It tastes just like it used to. I make a mental note to call my mom and thank her again.

Jordan and I laugh and tease and talk in between cheesy bites. The flavors are as sharp and rich and nutty as the conversation. We talk about the scary old Armenian woman he used to work for and I tell him about Powell's.

"I'll have to come visit you at work on Monday, then, Fray. I've been meaning to pick up a few new books recently anyway."

Jordan tells me about how he's started taking new yoga classes at his gym, and that with his extra time now having quit his old job, he's thinking about becoming a certified instructor. As he is talking he lifts a bit of food to his mouth, the string of cheese connecting his fork and the plate looking too good to ignore. I reach my hand across the table and sever the string of cheese with my finger and lifting it to my mouth. He scoffs at me in mock hurt and I waggle my eyebrows, both expressions quickly dissolving into giggles.

After dinner, he does the dishes, which I'm grateful for. The dish situation is the one thing I'm not thrilled about in living alone. I hate doing dishes. I always have. I would clean a toilet in two seconds, no complaints or questions asked. But there's something about dishes that just gross me out too much. So while he is washing, I grab two mugs and make us each some hot chocolate. He finishes as I'm sitting down at the coffee table with both mugs and the bag of mini marshmallows. He grabs one of the blankets from off the top of the couch and we sit down, snuggling up together. Jordan puts on 21 Jump Street and we take turns laughing and popping marshmallows into our mouths, feeling the powdery outside dust across our tongues before melting into the squishy interior.

Tangled up in a fleece blanket, squishing marshmallows between my teeth, and snuggling up with Jordan sends waves of nostalgia through me. We used to do this almost everyday after school, when Jordan would come over before his Mom got off work. I feel so at rest, this feeling of safety and warmth emanating from my chest and spreading across my whole body. It's like I'm a kid again.

It's like I'm really, truly safe.

It's like I'm home.

* * *

"So here's the drill, Jordan. I am not giving up my bed. I _need _my bed. My bed is like the only reason I make it out of this apartment each day. The Queen of England could march in here and demand a place to stay and I would still be the one sleeping in the bed. So I guess the question is, couch or air mattress?"

Jordan laughs and encircles me in his arms, tucking my head under his chin. My back lies flush against his tummy and I lean back into him. "I would be glad to take the couch, Clare-Bear." We venture down the hall together and grab him some extra blankets from the closet.

"You saw the tour earlier, so you know where everything is. But quick recap," I say as we start back down the hall, "here," I point into the open door, "is the bathroom. Back down that way is my room. You obviously know where the kitchen is. If you need anything, let me know in a heartbeat. If I happen to be incapable of helping for some reason, Jace is right next door."

"Clary, you do realize that I am not a kindergartner, right?"

"Right, right," I say, my cheeks flushing. "I just get worried."

"Well don't worry," Jordan replies with a warm smile and a wide-mouthed yawn. I keep forgetting about the time change and how jet-lagged he must be. "Everyone will be fine."

* * *

"Clary?! _Clary! _Oh my god, _**Clary**!_" My eyes shoot open at the sound of his brash, panicked voice. His hands are on my shoulders, shaking my body up and down. I lift my head and dart my eyes around me. My whole body is drenched in sweat and I can taste salt in my mouth.

I reach my heavy arms out, grasping at the air desperately until I wrap them around his large shoulders, pulling myself up to him. I lay my warm cheek against the cool skin of his shoulder, my chest heaving too quickly as I try to remember where I am.

I choke out a sob, but no tears come with it.

"It's _him_, Jordan. It was him. It was that day again. It was that day and it was him and he was coming and he was going to hurt me. It was _him_, Jordan; he was right there. He was right there next to me and I was crying and screaming and I couldn't get away. It hurt so much, everything hurt so much and I was so scared." My whole body is shaking and wracking with the tremors and sobs pulsing through me. My words come out coarse and gravelly and my throat is raw.

He clutches my back with one arm through my t-shirt and runs the other down my hair, blowing a continual shushing sound into my ear. I keep babbling at him, unable to stop myself, "My blood was everywhere and he was there and he was laughing at me, his dark eyes were laughing at me. He was supposed to protect me. Why did he hurt me? Why did he hurt me, Jordan? He was supposed to love me. Why didn't he love me, Jordan?" My voice cracks with a sob every few words, but it isn't until the end that the tears begin to pour. I cry against his shoulder the way a storm rains down upon the ocean: adamant, unyielding, and without regret. My whole body feels heavier and colder than usual, my eyes feeling as though they are heavy weights, threatening to sink down into my bruised heart and burrow there.

Slowly, Jordan lowers us down onto the bed and I curl up in a tight ball, fisting all of the sheets and dragging them up around my body. He lays down behind me and curls his legs up under mine, shielding my body from any other unwanted memories. He continues to pet my hair, flattening it down against my head as he combs. His shushing never ceases either, and soon it is the only sound left in the room besides the quiet pittering of the rain outside. I am afraid of sleep claiming me again. I don't want him to come back. I can't have him come back. Almost like the doppler effect, Jordan's shushing seems to fade away_._

The silence stretches like an elastic band. I keep thinking something will happen and it will snap back, leaving the room erupting in noise, but it doesn't.

The tidal motions of Jordan's chest against my back remind me to breathe. I feel myself being dragged down, dragged under to another land. I don't want to go, I want to stay awake. I want to walk among the living, not face whatever dreams this other land has in store.

I continue to hold the sheets in my white-knuckled fist until my eyes are closed and my body begins to float away.

"Why didn't he love me Jordan?" my croaking voice whispers in a world I'm no longer sure I'm a part of.

"I don't know, Clare," he replies. "I don't know."

* * *

_Hey okay I know this looks like a wall of text if you're on mobile, but it's not angry or ranting or anything it's a new idea of mine, give it a read._

**Explanation of the nightmare to come in the near-ish future, as well as lunch with Jace, and a small get together with Jace's family and Simon and Jordan and Clary. **

**New thing I'm trying out: _themed reviews!_  
for this one, leave a review with a song that reminds you of the Mortal Instruments or one of the Mortal Instruments characters.  
**

**An example of mine: Cigarette Daydreams by Cage the Elephant is my Jace-spiration song. Every time I hear it I think of this story and Jace in particular, and I always listen to it when writing from his POV. I just love it so much that I think I'm going to add it into the story at some point.**

**Another example: my cousin always thinks of Mortal Instruments when she hears the song Clarity by Zedd, because the lyrics really sync well with the events of City of Ashes / City of Glass. **[p.s. i might do a song fic with this i haven't decided yet]

**Let me know your Mortal Instruments song in a review and I'll give it a listen!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-katethewriter**


	12. City of Nightmares

**Hey Guys! Hope you have all had a better week than I have. Two friends of mine that went to my high school just passed away in a tragic car crash this weekend. The whole community has been reeling, and it's been a rough couple days at school. Anyhow, it was a good reminder to me that life is precious and that we should make sure to cherish every moment and spend it with those we love. And I know that that sounds super cliche and everything, but coming from a school where we've lost six innocent high school students in four short years, it's made each day just a bit more hopeful. I hope all of you are healthy and happy and feel loved, and love those around you. I appreciate every single one of you, and I hope my writing brings as much joy to you as your reading does to me. **

**Thank**** you to the always lovely IWriteNaked for beta'ing this chapter and the last one, even though I forgot to give her credit (oops!). She's awesome and thorough and really funny. If you're looking for a good fic to read I highly recommend her's as well as those by rippingbutterflywings (especially Coming Home and her new one Maybe Someday) because they are both terrific writers and even more terrific people.**

**This is for the guest reviewer "A": I hope this chapter clears that situation up a bit for you. I just want to say that you are not the only one who has complained to me about the relationship between Clary and Jordan, and I would like to address it: I wrote their relationship in this touchy-feely and sappy and close for a reason. I get frustrated with stories where Jace is basically the only male figure in Clary's life because I find it unrealistic and boring. Jace and Clary have known each other for a week in this story. Jordan and Clary have known each other for almost twenty years. Jordan has been in Clary's life through thick and thin and has seen parts of her that no one else has. I'm sorry if it bursts your bubble that Jace doesn't get to be the knight in shining armor in situations that came before Clary and Jace even met, but that's how life goes. Jace does not have any claim over Clary, and therefore it should not be bothering anyone that Cary is spending time with someone else. Just because Clary and Jace will eventually find each other does not mean that Clary and Jordan can not be friends. Does that make any sense? I think that friendships are so important and I will not let them take a back-burner to any kind of romantic relationship. Platonic relationships are just as important as romantic relationships and I'm going to write them that way. I really do not mean to come off as rude, but this is the way I see things and seeing as this is my story I will write it this way. **

**Okay. Now that that is out of the way, happy reading! :)**

**TW: some heavy themes as well as a bit of mild gore. It's nothing too bad, but if you get squeamish, this is your official warning. **

* * *

I'm sprinting down the streets of Manhattan, bumping into people, jostling them, even pushing them down in my efforts. I don't care who I knock down as long as I get to her. I need to get to her. I can hear her screams, piercing through the air like a needle through velvet. I can hear them sounding all around me, reaching down into the deepest parts of me and pulling dark cloaks over any happiness there, until I'm a mess of soulless blackness.

Her screams are so loud. It's as if she's screaming from right next to me, from inside of me. I can't escape the noise, and she's in pain, _she's in pain_ and I just need to find her.

I need to find her.

I keep thinking I'll reach a street corner or a light or an alley or something. Instead, the street continues to stretch out in front of me endlessly, the faces of the people all around me ones of disdain. They all look angry. They are angry with me. What have I done wrong?

All I can think of are her screams and the fact that I need to get to her. I need to protect her. I look over the heads of the crowd and see an opening in the throng. I push forward. The screams are louder than ever. I can almost catch a glimpse of her hair.

I push through and there she is. The screams are still ringing and she's not looking at me, she's turned away so all I can see is her long hair against her back. The crowds of people melt into the periphery, moving around us with a wide berth as water parts around a rock.

I take the step out to her and put my hand on her small shoulder. She's still screaming and I turn her around.

"Mother?"

Her face looks back at me, mouth agape only no sound is coming out. Her eyes are gone. In their place are angry, red craters, bits of muscle and bone visible through the blood encasing them.

"Mother?! Mother!"

I cry out and fly back, trying to escape the sight, and her body falls fast and hard to the pavement. She's dead. My mother is dead. The screams are still sounding, and I am not sure whose they are anymore. They are the same shrill sound they were before, only now I know they aren't mother's. Mother can not scream anymore.

When the screams suddenly stop, I scan the area around me and a crow flies down from the sky. It lands on Mother's shoulder and begins to pick at the bloody pits that used to be her eyes. The beak is sharp and slices through the muscle lying underneath, tearing off a piece and sliding it down its black guzzle.

I try to yell, to scream, to move, to do anything but I am stuck. I am stuck rooted in my spot writhing and hurting. The crow notices my struggles and looks at me. It cocks its head and opens its mouth, the black beak now lined with red. And it screams. It screams the same scream that's been everywhere. I turn around and see that the crowds of people have stopped moving. They are standing there, looking at me and the crow and my mother's dead body. Their stares are ones of odium and they make my skin itch.

In unison, all the strangers open their mouths and the screams pour from them as well. I turn back for the crow but it is gone. And no longer is my mother's body lying still on the pavement, but Clary's. Her mouth is open, her eyes are gone and she is screaming. Blood begins to pour from every orifice in her face, and her hand lift up and scratch at her face, peeling away pieces of skin with every snag of her nail. The wall of bodies staring at us from all sides begins to chant at me in a voice too familiar. "This is your fault, Jace. This is your fault, Jace." Over and over the words thread themselves through my skin: down and in and out and pull, down and in and out and pull.

I drop to my knees screaming and try to still her hands, but she is too strong and my arms feel so tired, so weak. All I can do is lower my head until it rests against the soft skin of her abdomen and allow myself to drown in both our screams.

* * *

I wake up drenched in sweat. I haven't had a nightmare in longer than I can really remember. My breaths are labored as I reach over and turn off the light. I can practically still hear the screaming ringing in my ears. No, wait. I can still hear the screams. They're coming from the other side of the wall, they're coming from Clary's room.

I immediately panic and shoot out of bed. But the second I do, the screams stop are replaced with what sounds like Jordan's voice. Jordan's voice saying soothing words over the loud and ringing silence. I am still standing, my ear now pressed against the wall, trying to hear for anything else out of the ordinary. Her screams have stopped, and Jordan is there and I trust Jordan. I know he wouldn't hurt her. But is she okay?

I stand like that for another few minutes, wondering what I should do. There is nothing but silence on the other side of the wall, and each moment that passes makes me panic even more. What if she's hurt? Like _really_ hurt?

After a mental battle with myself, I finally decide to just go over there. I don't bother with shoes or socks or a jacket, I merely grab my phone and bolt out my door. I reach hers in a matter of steps and lift my hand up to knock, but before I can my phone rings in my pocket. It's Jordan.

"Is she okay?" Is the first thing I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Yeah, man, she's fine. She just had a bad dream. She's sleeping again now," he's whispering, presumably so as not to wake her again. The silence on the phone is so steady I can hear her breathing, soft snores lilting on the exhalations. Somehow hearing her breathe makes it all more real. Like I can really be sure that she's safe. I let out a loud breath I wasn't fully aware I had been holding. "Are you okay? I thought I heard you screaming."

"Yeah, man I'm fine. I was just worried about Clary," I reply lamely. Relief is flowing through me at the sounds of her breathing on the phone.

"Me too. Does this happen often?" He asks me, genuinely inquiring. I don't know if this is my place to answer.

"I don't know that I've heard her like that before, though I'm not always home," I reply.

Jordan tells me to try and get some rest and I hang up, heading back into my own place. It's 4:00, too early to really stay awake. My feet carry me to my bed and I sprawl out across it. I remove my sweat-soaked tee and spread out my limbs, in a pointed shape resembling a star. Max used to call it "sleeping like a starfish". Thinking of Max helps calm me down after Clary's screaming and my dream. A dream I don't have the emotional strength to think about or analyze right now. I can not think of Mother. Not now. I roll onto one side, drawing the quilt up to my hips again, and close my eyes for what will hopefully be the last time tonight.

* * *

I wake up with Clary's hair in my mouth, her hands no longer fisted in the blankets, rather curled up under her cheek. Yellow rays of light are streaming through her window, almost like a silent signal that the troubles that plagued us last night are gone. I haven't heard Clary scream like that since that day. That day that I refuse to let myself think about. It woke me up, and Lord knows I'm the heaviest sleeper this world has ever seen. And her small body was thrashing, her arms raised and blocking her face as sweat formed on her arms and forehead and chest. I was terrified. I heard her and I thought she was dying. I didn't know what to do.

I can't imagine what it must have been like for Jace, with only a thin layer of wall between them. I know that it terrified him to say the least. When I called to apologize, he was breathless and his voice was hitched up at least an octave. He sounded as worried as I felt.

Now I know—with Clary's face inches from mine, breathing softly against my nose, her leg hitched up over one of my own—that we are all safe.

My muscles all feel a little too heavy and my movements are a little sluggish, telling me without needing to look at the clock that it is fairly late in the morning.

I stand up, carefully placing Clary's leg back on the bed so as not to wake her. The hallway is dark, though when I walk out to the kitchen the windows provide ample amounts of natural light. I start on making a pot of coffee and pull the bread out. I throw two pieces into the toaster and reach around in her kitchen for a minute before finding the cinnamon. I startle a bit when the toast pops even though I was standing here waiting for it. I pull it out of the toaster and waste no time spreading it with butter. Once the butter is all melted in, I reach into the jar of sugar next to the coffeemaker and apply a liberal amount to each slice of toast, then sprinkle them with the cinnamon.

Cinnamon-sugar toast was something my mom would make for me all the time as a kid, and the first time she made it for Clary was the morning after our first sleepover at my house. We were about seven, and Clary's biological parents were still together. Clary took one bite of it and told my mom that she wanted to live with us forever so long as she could wake up to this toast every morning. We talked for a little while about moving in together once I graduated high school, but at the time I was living with some of my old buddies and it just never really happened. I wish we had.

The coffee finishes brewing a few minutes later and I pour us each a cup: her's with the liberal amount of sugar I know she prefers and mine with only a splash of milk. I carry the two mugs in one hand and the plate of toast in the other and start off back towards Clary's room.

She looks so peaceful laying amongst her sea of blankets, though I know she wouldn't want to sleep too late. We have a lunch with Jace today and if the way her cheeks turn red at any mention of his name is any indication, I think she'll want some time to get ready before we go. I set the food and mugs down on one of the nightstands and climb back in, sitting atop one of my legs, the other dangling down to the floor. I brush her hair out of her face and then drag my hand down to her collar bone, tickling the hollow there in the way that I know makes her giggle. She smiles lightly in her sleep and her face moves down to close the gap between her chin and chest, effectively blocking out her collarbone. But the one motion was enough, her eyes begin to flutter and her smile deepens. She inhales deeply and I know she's smelled the coffee. She opens her eyes slowly and lazily, inhaling deeply again and let her chest fall slowly with her exhale. She blinks at me and her grin doesn't falter.

"Hey, Jordanater."

"Hey, Clare," I reply, handing her her cup of coffee from the nightstand. She sees it and uses her hands to push herself up so her back is resting back against the wall, her butt now seated just below the pillows. She takes the mug with both her hands and holds it up to her face, allowing the steam to hit her cheeks.

After she's taken a long sip, I reach over again and grab the plate of toast. I watch her eyes light up in a flare quite reminiscent of a cigarette as she takes in the toast. She gasps and looks up at me, her mouth pressed into a tiny little crooked smile. She looks so young that for a moment I expect her to open her mouth to reveal the toothless, gap-ridden smile she had when I met her.

Instead, she smooches at me, blowing me a kiss through the air, and takes a large bite of the toast. She hums appreciatively as she takes her bite and I take one too.

It's so good. It tastes like childhood: like scraped knees and grass stains and bedtime stories.

In between bites of toast, she looks up at me from under long eyelashes and approaches the subject I know she doesn't want to approach. "Um," she starts, swallowing dryly, "about last night..." She trails off, not quite knowing what to say.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I tell her, setting my own piece of toast down. Clary's eyes focus in on a thread poking out of the leg of my sweatpants and she looks at it as though it's the most fascinating thing in the world. She picks at it, tugging and stretching the fabric all around it until it's gone, having retracted back into the knitting.

"I haven't dreamt of him in over two years. The last time I did was the first night I spent in this apartment. I was so afraid that he would find me. I don't know why. I guess I just felt unsafe." The entire time she talks her eyes stay glued to the patch of my sweats where the thread once existed.

"Oh, so I make you feel unsafe?" I joke. "It must be that you're afraid of falling in love with me again." She smiles widely, but it disappears again after only a moment and her eyes never move.

"No, I think having you here just brought back so many memories. The majority of them were welcome, but some of them weren't as you can probably guess."

"I know. But Clare, you don't have to worry. He's not coming back for you. He can't. He won't hurt you anymore."

"That's what everyone says: that he can't hurt me anymore. But he can, and he does. Everyday. I wake up everyday and what he did is like a weight on my chest. Every time I get drunk I think of that day and what it did to me. It hurts to think of those days. That hurt doesn't go away."

I lift her chin gently and she looks at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She inhales sharply through her nose as she brings her hands up to wipe them away before they fall.

"You're right. I'm sorry I said that." She nods. And slaps her hands down onto her knees, sitting cross crossed underneath her.

"You know what I do to relieve some emotional stress?" I ask her. "I do some kickass yoga. You want to join me?" She nods vigorously and smiles. We both hop out of the bed and our bare feet smack against the hardwood floors as we walk down the hallway.

"Shoot, Jordan. I don't have a mat." Clary's mouth scrunches to one side in disappointment.

"Don't worry. I've got that situation covered." She looks at me, puzzled and I smile at her and head over to my bag. I unzip the top and pull out a purple yoga mat with a large red ribbon tied around the center. "Hostess gift," I say as I hand it to her. She beams and grabs it from me.

We push the couch up against the TV and with the extra space we unroll our mats adjacent to each other. I run her through all the steps, and she gives each of the poses newer, funnier names. Child's pose becomes "rotisserie chicken pose" and Cobra becomes "checking out the butt of the person in front of you pose". Though yoga is usually dead serious we find a way to laugh our asses off through the whole thing. When we're done, having done four full sequences, we're both sweating and Clary complains about her legs and abs burning.

Clary and I take turns showering, her first because her hair needs to dry she says, and then we throw our clothes on. We brush our teeth together, me standing over Clary in the mirror. Then she takes a few minutes to throw on some eyeliner and wrap her hair into a bun on the crown of her head. Her curls hold so much volume that the bun looks huge, like a round dumpling resting upon her skull. We both step out of her apartment clad in jeans. Her's are high-waisted, the button resting against her belly button, and cuffed at the ankles of her high-tops. I wear mine with my favorite pair of Clark's and we both wear flannels, though her's is open over a fitted grey cropped tee, whereas mine is buttoned up to my neck with a cardigan thrown over the top. Jace opens his door and it becomes apparent that we will all be matching today. He's got on a pair of jeans and a flannel as well, though—like Clary—his is open and he wears an Arctic Monkeys tee.

This is the first time I've seen him in a while, and I envelope him in a big hug the moment he opens the door. He slaps my back a few times and laughs.

"Good to see you, man!" He says to me, the smile evident in his voice.

"It's good to see you too. Been too long," I say.

"Well it wouldn't have been if you hadn't decided to go and get viral meningitis!" he says.

"Oh yeah, because I so did that on purpose. I love being hospitalized with the possibility of death as one of my symptoms." The sarcasm is practically oozing down my words and Clary laughs behind me. I step back and Jace looks at her. His eyes soften when they meet her's and she blushes a little, likely unwittingly, under his gaze. There is definitely some investigating needing to be done on my part.

"Hey, Clary."

"Hey Jace-aroni," Clary says. He smiles at her and she smiles back, looking down at her shoes and then back at him. I've been here for like two minutes and already I'm sensing the need for them to get a room.

"So what's this taco place you were telling me about?" I ask Clary.

Clary's eyes go wide, and her chest actually dips down into itself, her body looking as though it's almost convulsing in pleasure, as she begins to tell me about the mexican restaurant. "The walls are all painted pink on the inside and outside, and they have the _best_ mexican food I've ever had."

As Clary talks we all set out down to the parking lot together. Clary hops into the driver's seat and I try to race Jace to shotgun, but he beats me easily. He laughs in victory as I take my place in the small, worn backseat. It's the same backseat I used to sit in in high school when Simon would beat me to the passenger seat and the smell of the leather makes me nostalgic yet again. There are stacks of CD's and cassette tapes on one of the seats, so I walk around and sit on the other side.

Clary and Jace continue to converse as I look through Clary's music collection back here. Some of the CD's are quite predictable: AM, Pretty Odd, Modern Vampires of the City, Beautiful Soul. Others though are unfamiliar to me: Mindspeak, Talking is Hard. I reach over to the cassette tapes and find some old books on tape, including Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

Then I see something that really tugs on my heart strings.

All of the mixtapes I made Clary when we were in high school are still here. I had been trying to be indie at the time, thinking it would catch her attention, and made her a bunch of mixes, recording them with a tape deck I found at a garage sale. She was so happy the first time that I decided to make her one every weekend and brought it to her at school until she graduated early. And then I brought one to her every time we met up together while she attended college. It was like a ritual. That was back when I had the biggest crush on her known to man. But I was a naive teenage boy and as such, did not know how to show her I liked her. So I became some sort of lame womanizer trying to catch her attention which obviously didn't do anything. And after a while I realized that she served a much better purpose in the stretches of my life as my best friend.

And that's what we've always been, what we always shall be.

And I couldn't be happier.

* * *

**Thank you guys for reading, and thank you also for your kind words and continued support. It really means more to me than you probably know. **

Review question of the chapter: _Who is your favorite Mortal Instruments character and why? _  
Mine is most definitely Simon just because I love his humor and I can visualize him and his character so easily. I could see myself being friends with a real life Simon, and because of that I like to think of him as the most real of all the characters.


	13. Jace's Neighbor

**Hello, all! It has been too long. Also it's two in the morning where I live, but I felt bad for leaving you guys hanging for so long that I thought I might as well just post it now.  
****However, I have a (somewhat) mellow week this week and then spring break so I should update a few times in the next two weeks. Also the next few chapters are very cohesive and happen to actually stretch over the course of only a few hours. It might be kinda weird, but it's a lot of introductions followed by a little bit of drama and then some intense monologue-ing. Sounds pretty exciting, huh? Anyways, thank you to my always wonderful beta, Ash IWriteNaked for being super great and super speedy. Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. Can we make it to 155 reviews with this chapter? I think we can. Happy reading!**

* * *

Good God, Jace looks hot. Why the hell? I mean, he can't tone it down for like five minutes? He's wearing a white shirt with the words "SUCK IT AND SEE" superimposed in dark black lettering, and the way it compliments the impossible tan of his skin is honestly unfair.

How can we be literally wearing the same shoes and his make him look like some mysterious hunk, and mine make me look like the garbage-eating rat brother in Ratatouille? There's gotta be some element of magic here. Is he a wizard? A warlock? Some kind of fairy or something? What the fuck.

I greet him with a stupid nickname, as seems to be my new forte, and he looks over and smiles. It's a strange smile; not quite a full smile, and not quite the crooked smirk he always goes for. It's like he tried for the rugged smirk and his mouth just couldn't keep from going up a little further. I decide I very much like it.

His eyes are glowing with his smile and I can't help but lower mine. I'm probably blushing like an idiot. Jordan asks about the taco place and I go into a full detail account of how amazing it is. The boys race each other to shotgun of my car like the dorks that they are, and I take my time catching up to them. I slip into the driver's seat just as Jordan slips into the back. Ater buckling my seatbelt, I pop one of my favorite mixtapes into the cassette player, throw the car in reverse and back out of the complex. Looking into the rearview mirror, I see Jordan rifle through the cassettes on the seat next to him and watch as his smile scrunches upon seeing his old mixtapes for me. Jace and I talk about meaningless funny things, him telling me about a water bottle he'd seen that's shaped like a penis and me telling him about the woman walking outside that morning who'd stepped in a giant pile of dog shit. I'd watched the whole thing play out from one of my windows, watched the realization dawn on her, and the not-so-subtle lifting of the foot to inspect the damage.

Jace laughs, then oddly asks me, "How did you sleep last night?" He tries to act relaxed, but his body language betrays him.

I freeze up in response. "Fine," I lie through my teeth.

"Oh." Is all he says. Could he have heard me through the wall? Oh God, I hope not. I don't want to have woken him up.

Neither of us seems to be talking, and so I take the matter of changing the topic into my own hands. I can only think of one thing: the party. "So Jordan," I begin, looking up into the rearview mirror again to lock eyes with him, "Jace and I have a bit of a surprise for you." Jace looks over at me and raises his eyebrows quizzically but then understands, his expression melting into a knowing smile.

* * *

Simon is the first to arrive, and he carries a six pack of beers with him. He's got a huge smile, and after hugging me and clasping Jace's hand, he runs up to Jordan and embraces him with a loud laugh. He shouts something by way of greeting to Jordan who returns the favor, then Simon turns to me.

"Oh, hey, I invited the band if that's cool. I wanted them to meet Jordan," Simon says to me. I hesitate a moment before weakly replying with an approval. I wasn't expecting to have to entertain too much. Not that Simon's bandmates aren't great, I just was hoping this would remain like family only. Oh well.

The next to arrive are two men, one with dark, shiny hair like a roll of negatives and startling blue eyes, and the other with swooping glittery hair and a devilish grin that lights up his whole face.

Jace greets them from behind me, "Alec, Magnus! Come on in!" The two step over the threshold and take turns hugging Jace. Then Jace and the two of them turn to me. "Clary, this is Alec, my brother," Jace says, gesturing to the boy with the blue eyes. I shake his hand and he gives me a warm smile. "And this is Magnus, Alec's boyfriend." I reach my hand out again, but instead of shaking it as Alec did, Magnus pulls it up to his mouth and kisses it lightly. I blush and smile at him. Jace and Alec both roll their eyes. "And guys, this is Clary," Jace says, gesturing to me with his hand. "My…neighbor."

"Why hello, Jace's...neighbor," Alec says, obviously mocking Jace for the strange pause in his words. Jace punches him lightly in the upper part of his arm.

"Pleasure to meet you," Magnus says to me, his voice is silky but rippled like a cat's purr.

"I've heard nothing but good things about both of you," I tell them. Because it's true. It's obvious in the way that he talks about them, Jace really loves them both. I step out of the way, and Jace leads introductions between Jordan, Alec, and Magnus.

I head into the kitchen and meet Simon. He is just closing the fridge with one of his beers in his hand. He gives me a lopsided smile, crinkling his dark brown eyes in the process.

"So, remind me again who's going to be here." There's an upward inflection of Simon's voice at the end, though it's not really a question.

"Well, you and me and Jordan and Jace, obviously," I begin, "and then Jace's family, which I'm pretty sure includes only his sister, Isabelle, his brother, Alec, and Alec's boyfriend, Magnus." I huff out a breath and smile. "Oh yeah, your bandmates too, I guess." Simon must see something in my expression I didn't mean for him to, because his eyes soften and he looks at me thoughtfully.

"Oh shoot, Clary. I didn't mean to intrude or anything. I can call them and tell them to hang back if you want me to."

Even though I'm slightly tempted by the offer, I shake my head at him. "No, Simon, don't. It's fine. I love your bandmates. They're all really funny."

Simon lets out a whoosh of breath. "Well, I guess now would be the time to tell you that I invited a couple other people too, then." His voice trails off as he talks, and he brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck as his eyes trail.

I huff. "Simon, come on," I chastise him.

"Well, you're the one that said 'party'! I thought that meant like an actual event where there were more than seven people."

"Whatever. It's just, who did you invite? And how many?"

Simon opens his mouth as if to reply, but he is cut off by the doorbell.

I head back to the living room as Jace opens the door. On the other side stands a crowd of eleven people, all crowding into my tiny doorway. I imagine that my jaw has actually dropped down to my knees.

Some people have bottles in their hand, others have bags of chips and such. I recognize about five of the faces: Simon's three bandmates: Eric, Kirk, and Matt; as well as Raphael, a coworker of Simon's (who is also carrying about fourteen various snacks) and Maia, Simon's bitch ex girlfriend who looks at me and my apartment with enough disdain that I want to shove my foot clear up to her cervix. The other faces are all unfamiliar, yet that doesn't stop them from barging straight into my apartment.

I whip my head around and glare at Simon and his whole body seems to shrink in upon itself in fear. But before I can unleash all my fury upon him, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around to see one of the strangers, a tall, brown-haired guy with grey-blue eyes and a jersey knit tank top, exposing his muscular, tattooed arms.

He reaches out a hand and I take it. "You must be Clary," he states. There's stubble growing on his strong jaw and he has gauges in his ears. "I'm Elias. I work at the record store with Matt."

"Hi," I reply, "Nice to meet you. Feel free to make yourself at home. Beers are in the fridge." I turn to the horde of people, and greet the ones I know. Eric envelopes me in a hug and I get a shoulder squeeze from the other guys in the band.

I help Raphael carry all his food over to the kitchen where I pour the chips into a bowl. He also brought six buckets of extra crispy boneless KFC and a couple different Hostess desserts. This kid is a madman. Once the food is set down, he hugs me as well and thanks me for inviting him. I don't want him to know that I had no idea he was even coming until he walked inside, so I just tell him something along the lines of "Of course." We talk for a minute or two before Maia, the royal bitch, walks in with a couple six packs of Mike's Hard and drops them unceremoniously against the counter.

"Thanks for the party." She snaps her gum and turns quickly back out to the living room, not even bothering to let me reply.

I head to the living room to see that Isabelle has arrived, and she carries a bottle of whipped cream vodka. She hugs Jace, Alec, and Magnus, and then I watch as she's introduced to Jordan. Then she crosses the room to come up to me. Her eyebrows are knitted up into her forehead and she's worrying her bottom lip between her perfect teeth.

"Look, Isabelle, you don't have to—" I try to cut off any sort of apology before it even passes her lips, but she interrupts me.

"No, Clary," she says, "I'm going to." She inhales deeply. "I'm so sorry for what I did last week. First of all, breaking and entering is totally against the law." I try to interject and remind her that she didn't actually break, she just entered, but she holds a hand up to shush me. "Second of all, it was like asscrack of dawn early, so that was rude. Also the fact that, you know, I screamed at you for several minutes regarding something you had absolutely no knowledge of, and no reason to have knowledge of. It was extremely shitty of me, and had I been more careful I wouldn't have barged completely into the wrong apartment. Please forgive me."

"Of course, Isabelle. It's honestly not a problem. At all. Whatsoever. Please don't worry about it."

She smiles and hugs me as well, though this is only the second time I've ever seen this girl in my life.

"Please," she says, "call me Izzy."

I look up and around the room to discover that more people seem to have come in while I was talking to Izzy. I squeeze her hand and whisper an apology so that I can make my rounds through the apartment which seems to have as many unfamiliar faces as it does familiar ones. I meet Simon's eyes across the room and furrows his eyebrows. I squint my eyes a bit in return, to which he mouths the word, "sorry".

Sorry is right.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

**Okay! So the party has officially begun, and the plan has already gone awry. My favorite person to show up to the party so far is Raphael just because he brought food. Also, apologies in advance for the way I treat Maia in this story. She was never exactly a favorite of mine.**

**Review Question: _What is your first name, and what is your favorite book in the Mortal Instruments series?_**  
**My name is Kate (that's probably pretty obvious), and it's a tie for me between City of Glass and City of Lost Souls. I love Sebastian/Jonathan, and so I like the books were he is heavily represented. **

**A lot is about to go down in the next chapters. Like A LOT. SO buckle in and get ready. I'll be back in a week.**

**-katethewrite**r


	14. 2001: A Jace Odyssey

**Hey! Sorry it's been a little while, but I wanted to have the next chapter completely written before posting this one. It's kinda long and I ended up cutting/condensing a lot of the actual party. Originally there was quite a bit more partying and antics happening, but in the end it just seemed kinda weird and I wanted to get to better things so I cut it out. Here is the end result. Let me know what you think! **

**(also super thanks to Ash IWriteNaked for being a wonderful beta and just a generally kickass person. Go check out her stories. They rock.)**

_also on a completely unrelated note, I got a few tiny succulent plants and a tiny cactus this week and they're so cute and I love them with all my heart. One of the succulents is called like a low-hanging pearl or something so I named it Earl. And the other succulent has these cute tiny leaves so I named him Leaf Erikson. And then I named the cactus Cactus Jack Sparrow. I love tiny plants. They're so cute. (I posted pictures on my twitter. If you want to see my tiny adorable plants then go look up *coffeemugged) (i tried to do an at sign and it wouldn't let me so its an asterisk instead) (there's also a hyerlink on my bio if you want to do that instead bc its easier) (there are so many parentheses)._

* * *

I can see how overwhelmed Clary is from across the room. She meets my eyes and she seems to calm down just a little bit, throwing me a small smile and a mouthing of the words, "Hey, Jace." I wave back and she resumes her wandering of the room.

It looks like she's trying to introduce herself to everyone in the room, but she's going about it all the wrong way. She's seeking them out and then trying to start full conversations with each of them. She's gotta be quick about this kind of thing, like I am. I went around as quickly as I could and just shared names with each of them.

First was Aline, the Chinese girl with the sleek black hair and the playful brown eyes. She seemed nice enough, and I can tell that Eric seems to be pretty into her by the way his eyes follow her ass as she walks.

Then there was that Elias guy. He was a little bit shorter than me, and he was very obviously flaunting his tattooed wings on his back. I am not quite so keen about the way he keeps eyeing Clary. In fact, my jaw clenches just thinking about it. He'd better back off.

After Elias I met Simon's three bandmates: Kirk, Matt and Eric. They functioned almost as one person, and all complemented each other well. They explained to me that the lead singer, Tyler, was unable to make it, but that they were all a little bit glad. Apparently he has a loud personality and an extreme sense of vanity.

After that I spoke to Lily, who is quite hard to miss seeing as she has the _fucking American flag dyed into her hair._ Jesus Christ. She also seemed like kind of a bitch, but oh well. Nobody's perfect, I guess.

Then there's Raphael. The guy with all the chicken. I love that guy. He is at least a head and a half shorter than me, but he packs a lot of fun into one little man.

Ugh. There was the tall, leggy blonde named Camille who had backed me up to a wall and tried to whisper something into my ear before I managed to get away from her. She was very annoying, and although I'm not one to hate on girls very often, it was like she was asking for me to. She keeps winking at me and swaying her hips whenever I'm near. Yuck.

There's Catarina, the coffee skinned girl with the bright blue hair. She seems nice, and she has this strange effect on you, where you go to talk to her and it instantly calms you down. Her voice is low and soothing. She would be an excellent narrator for a mystery novel audiobook. I like her.

If my bitch alarm went off for Camille, then the bitch alarm exploded in a shower of sparks and shards of glass when I talked to Maia. She was shallow and moody and very rude. The first thing she said to me was something about how she hated it here, and that she thought Clary was a freak. I then made it clear that I had no interest in talking to her anymore.

Bat is the guy with the huge scar on his cheek. He seems pretty intimidating, too. He stands two or three inches taller than me and he's got a leather jacket on. I can't top that. He said something about being a DJ, which is cool too. He was lusting after Maia though like no one I've ever seen.

Last but not least was the highschooler, Maureen. When asked how she got in here, she said something about overhearing Simon talking to one of his bandmates about the party. She seems a little off-kilter, and laughs just a little too loudly at everything. Her eyes are constantly drifting to Simon and it looks like he's doing everything in his power to avoid her. She's blonde as well, although hers is more of a platinum than a yellow, and slides down her back in stick-straight locks.

Now after introductions with everyone, I'm free for the rest of the night. I only have to interact with the people I want to. And right now, the first on my mind is Clary.

* * *

I am sufficiently drunk.

My tongue feels thick and my tummy feels very warm and I feel like I am radiating energy off of my whole body like the sun baby thing in Teletubbies. I am the Teletubbies sun baby. That is my true identity.

I'm not quite sure how I found myself in the center of the makeshift moshpit in the middle of my living room where my couch and chairs used to be. But I did. The lights are all off and some people took the flashing LED lights off their bicycles and propped them in various spots, making for some kind of strobelight dealio.

Elias is like on my ass. And frankly I am surprised because I did not invite him to be there.

I can see Eric trying to cozy up with Aline over there across the room, even though she does not seem particularly interested. That highschooler chick on the other hand keeps running her hand on Simon's chest like she's trying to wash something out of it. I haven't seen Jordan in a while, but I'm sure he's fine. Camille had been hanging on Jace all night, but only a moment ago she walked out the door looking pissed.

Eric across the room starts to grind harder against a frustrated-looking Aline. Finally, she turns around and smacks her hands against his chest, effectively pushing him away.

"What's wrong baby? You wanna get out of here?" I can barely hear him over the loud music, but I'm pretty sure that's what he says.

She huffs loudly in return, and all the eyes in the room seem to hone in on the altercation. Raphael even turns down the music.

"What's wrong baby?" Eric asks, apparently not noticing the attention they are gathering.

"First of all, I am not your baby!" Aline says to him. She doesn't sound necessarily angry, more just frustrated and mocking. Maybe a little angry.

When she starts again, she is yelling quite exasperatedly. "Second of all, I am a _huge_ lesbian!"

She veers around and locks eyes with Lily, the American-flag-hair girl, and pulls her in for an extremely heated kiss. I cheer loudly, and soon everyone else is too, except for Eric who looks sheepish and embarrassed. The two break apart and smile widely at each other and start dancing together to the music that Bat turns right back up.

Elias's hands trail a path down my waist and over my hips and his mouth moves to my neck. He starts to suck on the angle of skin where my neck meets my shoulder and I can feel his teeth grazing the spot.

Suddenly I am overheated and uncomfortable and I feel like I need air. I turn myself around, red curls fanning out as I do so, and put my hands flat against his chest.

"Nope-ity nope nope nope, Mister," I tell him. Jesus, I have had more to drink than I thought.

His brows knit forward on his forehead and he looks at me for a long moment. "You sure?" he asks. His hips are angled inward at mine and his hands are rested at the curve of my waist.

"I'm sure," I reply, tapping my hands once against his chest for good measure.

He gives me an okay and turns to swim through the mini crowd.

I scan the crowd until my eyes find Jace again, and he's looking right back at me. He's got a warm, lazy smile and his arms look like a very comfortable place to curl up and sleep in. He's still wearing his "Suck It And See" T-shirt and the way he's looking at me kind of makes me want to.

Who am I kidding? It's making me really want to.

I walk over to him and interlace my hands around his neck. He smiles down at me and I smile widely back. "How's it going, 2001: A Jace Odyssey?" I ask him. That was a really terrible pun.

"That was a terrible pun," he echoes my thoughts. But he says it with a shake of laughter in his chest and I am warm and bubbling and so happy and he is here and he's cute and I lean my head on his shoulder.

I can feel him breathe in the scent of my shampoo and I hope it smells okay. It's supposed to smell like strawberries, but I don't know that the scent is coming through.

"How about The Curious Jace of Benjamin Button?" I ask, trying again with the pun.

"I want to answer whatever your question just was," Jace says from his spot tangled in my hair, "but I can't seem to think straight enough to figure out what you said. Your hair just smells like strawberries and you and your arms are around my neck and you're really cute and it's a lot to process."

I suck in a sharp breath and skip a beat, trying to process that. "Clary?" he asks, after a long few moments of silence. "Shit, did I just ruin it?" Another few beats of unpalatable silence before, "Clary? Please say something."

"You think I'm cute?" They're the only words that can make it past my heavy tongue and thumping heart. If my head wasn't still lying against his shoulder, my lips so close to his ear, the words surely would have been lost in the pounding bass of the music. My voice is squeaky and sounds silly even to my own ears.

Jace laughs and it shakes my head against his shoulder. I lift my head up to look at him. "Yes, Clary," he says. "I think you are very cute. You are like the cutest person in the room." I blush at his words and smile down at my socks. "Especially when you blush and look down at your feet like that."

"Okay, what kind of cute are we talking here, though? Like, little-sister-cute? Or like cute-cute."

"Like, want-to-kiss-cute. No, like, want-to-kiss-until-I-can-no-longer-breathe-cute," Jace continues to smile as he talks.

"Well, I think you're pretty cute yourself, Jace," I tell him as I bite my bottom lip into a smile.

And suddenly, stupidly, I want to show him the drawing I made of him the other day. And then I want to sit on my bed and draw him a million different times and a million different ways until I can finally capture him in all his glory.

"Come here," I say as I take his hand and lead him behind me. "Follow me." I left my sketchbook on my nightstand and I really want him to see it now. I can still feel the effects of the alcohol warming my veins and it's making me very happy. We snake through the kitchen towards the hallway and I snag a bottle of marshmallow flavored vodka on the way. It is almost full and the bottle feels cold in my hand, such a contrast to the warmth of my bones. The door to my room is closed at the end of the hallway, so I put my hand against the handle. I turn around to see Jace looking at me.

"There's something I want to show you," I tell him. He nods at me, and I twist open the door.

I drop the bottle and scream. Loudly. Like louder than I've ever screamed at anything ever in my life I'm pretty sure.

However drunk I was before, I sure sober up quickly, because this is something that I hope to never ever see again for the rest of my life as long as I live.

"Clary?" Jordan yells, from his spot above Maia. She's crouching on her hands and knees and he's hunched behind her and they're naked and they're sweaty and Jordan has several bite marks on his chest and scratches run down Maia's back and this is something that I will never ever unsee and I feel like I'm going to vomit.

"Oh God, Jordan," is all Jace seems to be able to say.

Jordan Kyle is fucking Maia Roberts in my bed. _My fucking bed._

I have half a mind to go in there and scream at them and slap the shit out of the both of them. But Jace takes action instead by closing the door and ushering me out of the hallway, then the living room, then the front door.

"Whatever you wanted to show me obviously can wait," Jace says.

"I think I'm going to vomit," I say. "And not from the vodka."

Jace walks me the short few steps over to his front door and opens it wide. I am suddenly aware that this is the first time I'll see Jace's place. And that my knuckles are turning white from the grip I still have on this marshmallow vodka. And that I just saw Jordan fucking Maia from behind in my bed.

Jace ushers me in the door of his flat and turns on the lights. Somehow it is both completely out of left field, and exactly what I was expecting. Everything is very plain. The walls are painted the same coin color that mine were when I first moved in, and his furniture is all white. It makes for a very minimalist, modern look. Quite the opposite of my deep color plaids and yellow painted kitchen.

The simplicity of my surroundings helps calm me down, and though he doesn't have many windows (at least not as many as I do) I can see the steady falling of the rain outside, and the unique white light that it casts down helps calm me down as well.

I slowly walk around the room and take things in. There are a few pictures in frames along one of the shelves installed in the wall. I see a picture of him with Alec and Isabelle in front of the Space Needle that looks pretty recent. There's also a picture of him and Alec looking about a decade younger, in soccer jerseys, the deep blue of them the same color as Alec's eyes. The way the two of them are posed in such a staged manner, and the unusual brightness of the grass they're kneeling on betrays the obvious effort to disguise the fact that this is a professional shot.

There's a picture of him and Izzy tickling each other under a banner that reads "Happy 16th". Whose 16th birthday it is, I'm not sure. But the scene is adorable all the same. Both of them are practically giddy looking and Jace's eyes are bright and playful in the light of the camera's flash. Then there a few of him with a boy who is gangly and awkward and has unruly black hair and big glasses. There are three pictures of him with this kid (who I can only assume is Max) spaced pretty far apart date-wise. One when Max appears to be about seven, then another about ten or eleven, and one which I assume is present day, and Max couldn't be any older than sixteen.

"That's Max," Jace says from above my shoulder, confirming my guess.

I turn around and smile up at his face, which smiles down at me in return. His grin just continues to grow until it takes up so much of his face that it must hurt. But it is so genuine and warm and friendly that it spreads like a contagion. My tummy lights up with the dancing wings of butterflies, all different colors and sizes and I bite my tongue in my wide smile in an effort to quell them somehow.

"Did you know, Miss Clary Fray," Jace begins, and puts his arms to either side of me against the wall, caging me in like a bird. "I happen to like you. Very much. I want to just sweep you off your tiny sock feet and kiss you every time I see you." There is no hope of quelling the butterflies anymore, and they are exploding in my gut like tiny fireworks.

"Well, Lightwood. It's not like you can just waltz in and steal my heart. I mean, I have a multitude of suitors already. I'm afraid you'll have to pick a number," I tease him.

"Okay," Jace says. "I'll pick a number." He reaches up into the air and pretends to draw a little number slip like he's at the ice cream shop. He inspects his invisible number, then holds it out to me as though there's something there I'm supposed to see. "I got 69."

I scoff and swat at his chest playfully. "Are you in seventh grade?" I ask him. "Pick a new one."

He makes a whole show of drawing another number and then holds it out for me again. "This must be broken, because now I got 420."

"It's not broken," I assure him, "it's just that you took so long picking the second number three hundred fifty new hot men vying for my attention showed up and got in line ahead of you." He smiles widely and breathes for a long moment. He puts more of his weight into his arms and leans up on his toes to bend in towards me.

"I very much want to kiss you, Clary Fray," Jace says, inching closer to me as he does. He hovers against my caged-in form and smiles.

"I very much want to kiss you too, Jace Lightwood," I tell him in a breathy voice. He leans in just a little bit closer, and just as my tummy coils in anticipation and the cool air of his breath hits my lower lip, the sound of clapping thunder echoes off the walls. He flies away from me as it does and I let my head fall.

"What, Jace? Afraid of a little thunder?" I tease as I look up. But I wish I hadn't said it, because what meets my eyes is in fact a very scared Jace. His skin is as white as a sheet and a sheen of sweat covers his forehead. His eyes are wide and his pupils are huge, swallowing up all the gold of his irises. He looks small and alone and vulnerable.

His head nods slightly and his eyes dart around. His breathing seems irregular and he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists.

Jace is afraid of thunder.

* * *

**I hope you guys enjoy seeing a little scared Jace as much as I do, considering he's usually portrayed as the macho, fearless, tough,** **man type. **

**Let me know what you think of scared Jace, as well as drunk(ish) Clary. I tried not to make it too over the top, because I find that can be inaccurate a lot of the time, but I'd love to hear what you thought of it. **

**More coming probably Saturday or Sunday, but if I get extra reviews, I may be inclined to post it a little early (or a lot early depending on how quickly you guys review!).**

**(Also two _MAJOR_ bombs are dropped in the next chapter if that works as extra incentive).**

**Review question: what do you think the two "bombs" are going to be? **_(One of them is fairly obvious. Actually I guess they're both fairly obvious when you think about it, but I don't know. I want to see what you guys think.)_

**-katethewriter**


	15. Bathtub Blues

**Hi! How are you? You guys got me twenty reviews in four days which is pretty cool, so I decided to give you guys this one three days early.**

**This chapter has a fairly long author's note that I hope you'll all read down at the bottom.**

**Thank you to Ash IWriteNaked for beta'ing this chapter before I even asked her to. That's pretty cool. **

* * *

The thunder echoes off all the walls and Jace's eyes lock with mine, looking truly and wholly terrified.

I have to do something to help him. "Okay, then. What do you usually do when it starts to thunder outside?"

Jace's mouth, which previously had been hanging slack with his jaw dropping, closed with a whistling inhale. "I, uh…" he stammers. "I usually, um, hide in my bathtub."

"Okay," I say. "Let's go." He nods at me again, and I take his hand. It's definitely sweating, but I don't loosen my grip. I find my way around easily, since his flat is just the reverse of mine. I open the door to his bathroom and open the shower curtain. The tub is clean and dry, so we both step in and sit down on our butts, with our knees folded up to our chests. Jace wraps his arms around his knees and hugs them into his chest and closes his eyes, so I do the same.

We can still hear the thunder, but it sounds much farther away now, and Jace's breathing begins to regulate somewhat after a few minutes.

"I must look like an idiot. I'm sorry, Clary."

"No, Jace, you don't. Please don't worry about it. We all have our fears."

"I just associate the sound with a really bad memory is all," he says. And I know exactly what he means.

The thunder seems to be growing a bit louder again, and Jace's breathing picks up with it. I try to steer the conversation from his fear, and the only thing I can think to steer it towards is my own.

"I bet you heard me screaming last night, didn't you?" He nods slightly at my question. "I was having a nightmare that I think was triggered by Jordan coming to visit. I dreamt about the last time I saw my father, Valentine." I don't know why I'm saying any of this, but now that I've started I can't seem to stop, "Valentine was not a good man. I thought he was, for a long time, but the truth was that I was just trying to project some image of goodness on him because I thought that was what he was supposed to be. That's what all dads are supposed to be: good. They're supposed to support you and love you and be there for you. Valentine rarely did any of those things."

I look over at Jace to see him staring back at me, shaking diminished and eyes attentive. So I continue: "He was a stockbroker, and he owned the company that had been passed down through countless generations. He poured all of his time and energy into his work, and it left us with a fairly large sum of disposable income. His net worth was higher than anyone else's we knew. But it was stressful. I know that. I also know that it in no way excuses what he did." I pause for a minute and pick at a stray thread sprouting from the knee of my jeans.

"He and my mother fought a lot while I was growing up. It's all I really remember from my childhood. He used to hit my mother from time to time, but I never really registered that it was a bad thing. He used to throw things too. Most of their fighting occurred in the kitchen, so it was often pots or pans or dishes that were thrown. Once, Valentine got so enraged at my mother that he picked up and hurled the food processor towards her head. He threw it with such force that, when it missed her, it hit the wall and crashed through it, opening a hole. When he called the contractor to come fix it, he said that my brother had been rough-housing and had done it by accident."

I laugh bitterly.

"Well, one night, A few weeks before my ninth birthday, I was having a sleepover with Jordan and Valentine had a couple bottles of red wine. We could hear the yelling and the subsequent smacks of Valentine's hands against my mother's skin, even through the closed door. Jordan whispered something to me about abuse, about it not being okay, what Valentine was doing. I got so angry at Valentine for hurting my mother that I threw open my door. Jordan tried to grab my arms and keep me from going out there, but I went anyways. I saw my mother cowering in one of the living room chairs with her hands trying to cover herself from Valentine's repeated blows. I stormed right up to him and kicked his leg. It was one of the stupidest, and yet smartest things I'd ever done. I punched him with all the strength my tiny eight-year-old body possessed. I yelled at him to stop, to stay away from my mother. And that was when he turned to me.

"His eyes, they were filled with a rage-filled fire that I hadn't ever seen before. It was so terrifying. I don't think I've seen anything scarier to date. I backed away from him and tripped over the rug onto my butt...I scooted away until I reached the wall, and he followed me. My monologue shifted from 'leave my mother alone' to 'please don't hurt me'. His fist went up behind him and then came down on me." Jace inhales beside me, and his hands unwind from his knees and clasp my hands. He holds them tight and it isn't until now that I realize I'm crying. My sweatshirt is stained with tears and their wetness against my cheeks draws in the cold air. My whole body is shaking, violently.

"Clary, you can stop," Jace says. My knuckles are white. I haven't told this story aloud since I told it to the social workers. But something in me feels like this is what I need: to tell the story.

"No, Jace. I can't. I have to tell it. I won't live in fear of him anymore." Jace just nods and I shakily exhale before I continue. "My mother was screaming with a raw throat as Valentine's blows just kept raining down on me. He was still wearing his wedding ring, and in some cruel irony, it made everything worse. The cold metal cut my skin where it made contact, and I began to bleed as well as bruise. I don't know how long Valentine hit me before my mother stepped in between us and saved me.

"She smacked Valentine across the face, and he struck her aside, then kicked my body towards the wall again. I smacked against it, my head absorbing most of the impact and being split open from the pressure. I got a bad concussion and blacked out, so I don't really know what happened after that. But I do know the police arrived shortly after, because Jordan had called them as soon as I had left my room. I was taken to the hospital, while Valentine and my mother were taken down to the police station for questioning. I had to get six stitches on the back of my head, though there was no skull or brain damage. They kept telling me I was really lucky, but I couldn't seem to see this as any sort of luck."

This time I know I'm crying, though my face remains quite stoic, an inexplicable calm overcoming me. The tears' paths flow relentlessly. Jace squeezes my hand tightly in one of his, and I feel his other hand trace light, comforting circles on my outer thigh.

"I had to talk to dozens of social workers and therapists, and Jordan, Jonathan and I were all asked to speak against Valentine in a court case, even though Jonathan had been at a friend's house on the night that it all went badly. We did, and Valentine got 4-7 years in prison, and lost all custody rights of both Jonathan and I. He had restraining orders placed between himself and Jordan, as well as himself and my mother. His marriage to my mother was officially unrecognized in the courts, and he was gone.

"The bruises covered over half of my body and took weeks to heal. One of my ribs was sprained as well, but it healed fairly easily. I used to have nightmares about that night daily, then weekly, then monthly, then almost not at all. The last time I had that nightmare was my first night here in Oregon, because I suddenly felt vulnerable. I knew Valentine was out of prison, and even though I knew he had no idea where I was, and he was bound by law to leave me alone, I still feared that maybe he'd find me somehow. He sends checks to my bank account every month even though he doesn't have to. Part of me feels like I should resent him for that, because it means somehow that I owe him. But part of me doesn't care, because I deserve every ounce of money he has, as do my mother and Jonathan. We deserve everything he has, because for a long time, he took away everything we had."

Jace shifts his body so that he is closer to me, and wraps his arms around my small frame. "I'm so sorry, Clary. I'm so so sorry. I shift myself so I'm lying back against his chest and allow myself to sob. I cry out all the things I've been trying to keep inside, to hide away from the world. I don't want to hide these feelings anymore, I don't want them. I imagine them all flying out of my mouth like a cloud of bats, all screeching and hissing until they evaporate into the air like a puff of black mist. My crying subsides until the only sound in the bathroom are my sniffles.

"No more thunder, at least," Jace says. And he's right. The thunder is gone. As is the music from next door. We must have been in here for a long time.

We stay there, half-lying down but propped against the wall of the bathtub. Jace holds me in his arms and I allow myself to feel heavy. We stay for a long time. Nothing but each other and the safety that nighttime can bring.

After all the air has been suffocated by the syrupy weight of silence, I whisper through the dark, "Hey, Jace?"

He replies with an inflected hum and a small rub of my arms with his warm hands.

"Can I still get that kiss?" I can feel myself drifting away from the fatigue, as though I am slung over a piece of battered driftwood existing atop the tumbling waves of oceanic sleep. "The one that will make me unable to breathe?"

"Of course, Clary." My heart starts beating heavier in my chest. Jace gently lifts me and twists my body around so that I am facing him, and then I lean in. My eyes flutter shut, but I can hear him intake a sharp breath as our noses meet and slide down next to eachother. Our lips are parted and mere millimeters from each other. Jace just breathes in through his parted lips and I can feel the movement of breath against my own lips.

He snakes his hands up and rests them below my ears at the base of my skull and around my neck. His thumbs stroke my cheeks and his fingers weave into the strands of hair at the back of my neck.

I feel very small, yet huge and all-encompassing at the same time. My heart is thrumming and my breaths are coming short and I feel alive. I feel alive.

Jace pulls my head in the small distance between us. I am already breathless.

The rough texture of our chapped lips causes them to stick to each other. The pressure is warm and sweet and fills me up. I can almost feel the energy of him pouring into me, down my throat and through to my toes.

He pulls my top lip in between his two and I feel lightheaded. The undersides of his lips are so warm and soft and when he releases my lip, I can taste the salt of his breath. I pull back slowly and open my eyes to look at his. His pupils are dilated again and he stares back at me with so much intensity.

I rest my forehead against his and trace my fingers in little circles against his collarbone. I stay a moment to steady my breath and then whisper, "Wow."

"Wow is right, Clary Fray." Jace says and he circles his arms around my back once again, pulling me into his chest.

The heaviness of the air and the aqueous feeling of my bones and the warm safety of Jace's arms catch up to me and soon I am sinking down into a cloyingly sweet sleep.

* * *

**So it's kind of short. But there you go!**

**I forgot to mention last chapter, but I posted pictures of all (most) of the people from the party last night onto my pinterest. I also started another board that's just for outfits/fashion from the story. Check it out! I also am going to start posting 8tracks playlists related to this story (maybe one every few chapters) and I'm formulating character-specific ones. I'm on 8tracks as katelillywalters so if you check me out there, I already have two playlists up. One, called "the existential crisis mix" I believe, is a compilation of the songs I was listening to basically obsessively when I first started this fic, and the pther one titled "don't think don't talk" is what I have been channeling pretty much since Jordan's arrival. I hope to have a Clary-specific playlist up kind of soon, but I don't have any dates nailed down yet It will definitely be in the next couple weeks. **

**The reviewer that came closest to guessing the two bombs was **_insolitasum_ **who guessed that they would both reveal their personal stories. You were really close! Clary revealed hers, but Jace's is still pretty far off. The other bomb was their first kiss. I had a lot of people asking me to make their first kiss just like the greenhouse one in the actual books, but I felt like that would kinda be cheating. **

**Clary and Jace's relationship has been so unorthodox to date, that I thought it would be best if their kiss was equally so. I mean, a first kiss in the middle of the night in a bathtub is not the most romantic thing in the world, but neither is meeting for the first time in pajamas because of an altercation involving backstabbing and excessive yelling very early in the morning. So, I feel like this fits a trend somehow. **

**Next chapter hopefully up next weekend, but I'll be in the process of moving the next two weeks, and I have a lot to do in order to prepare for this journalism competition/convention thing I'm going to in Denver in two weeks! The chapter might not be up as soon as we all want it to be, but I promise it will be up (and you won't have to wait like over a month again like you did a few chapters ago)!**

_Review question: what's your favorite band (or bands since I know it can be so hard to pick just one), and why?_


	16. High School Musical Jam-A-Long Hygienics

Okay before we even begin, I would just like to apologize for the wait. I said it wasn't going to be a month long wait and here we are a month later. It's been pretty stressful for me lately, but I needed to escape from the endless studying I'v been doing for this godforsaken APUSH exam, so i decided to write! I set a goal of 100 words today and when I hit that, I pushed it to 1200, then 1500, then 2000, and no here we are 2700 words later.

It's a bit of a weird chapter. It's definitely a filler which I hadn't planned it to be, but it just kind of got away from me.

Thanks Ash IWriteNaked for beta'ing (again and always)! You're the absolute best.

Also thanks to Camille Rippingbutterflywings because she is just the coolest cat around and we were talking about music and I gave her a list of some of my fav song &amp; bands and she literally went through and listened to / reviewed every single one of them. Which sounds kinda like ok, whatever but at the same time is like really cool and I think it just is super friendly and cute and like, she went out of her way to check out my interests which is just so sweet and it like honestly made my day. Camille, you are the gr9est, and I can not think of a better person to use the phrase gr9 for.

ANyways, Happy reading!

* * *

The song that appears later on in the chapter is Ceilings by Local Natives. Give the song a listen, it's **so good**.

_Haven't stopped your smoking yet  
__So I'll share your cigarette  
__Just to feel it in my fingers_

_Walk around 'til 3 am_  
_Tell me what I know again_  
_To keep myself from second guessing_

_All my silver dreams bring me to you_

_Hold the summer in your hands_  
_'Til the summer turns to sand_  
_We were staring at our ceilings_  
_Thinking of what we'd give to have one more day of sun_  
_One day of sun_

_Silver dreams bring me to you_

* * *

Jesus fucking Christ my head is pounding. It is like a tiny construction crew lives inside my skull and has decided to do the largest, loudest project it's ever done in the history of ever.

I pull the comforter up tight against my chin, not opening my eyes in fear of the nausea that could come. Without sight, my other senses begin to adjust quicker, and soon my nostrils are filled with the scent of cooking food. I also become aware of the dryness in my mouth, and my extreme need to pee.

Going against my own deepest wishes, I stand up and tiptoe over to the bathroom. I sit down and pee out a fucking river. Like good Lord I don't think I've ever peed this much in my entire life.

It's been like twelve minutes and I'm still peeing. What the fuck.

At least I'm not nauseous. All the lights are off, which I'm sure my head is grateful for. I'm worried to say the least about being exposed to the light in a few minutes. Not quite sure how I'll survive.

I finally finish peeing (the longest pee ever in human history probably) and stand to wash my hands. After I do, noticing that my mouth is still dry, I reach for one of the paper cups out of the dispenser I keep next to the sink.

However, when I reach over, my hand, instead of landing against a cup, falls through open air until it smacks against the cool tile of the counter.

I pull my head back a few inches in surprise and look down to where the cups should be. And the spot is empty. In fact, the whole counter is empty. Maybe someone moved my stuff during the party? I can hardly see with the lights off, so I turn around and flip the switch.

Which explains a lot.

This is not my bathroom.

There are plain white towels where my yellow fluffy ones usually hang and the shower curtain is a metallic grey plastic-y one instead of my watercolored canvas one. The whole room is decorated sparsely, with a color palette like a newspaper, all greys and whites and blacks.

Definitely not my bathroom.

But if this isn't my bathroom, then whose bed did I sleep in?

Where am I?

And why is my toothbrush on the counter? I know that's my toothbrush, unless someone else happened to stockpile High School Musical Jam-a-long toothbrushes when they were first released, which I highly doubt.

Just looking at the toothbrush makes me conscious of the stank that is happening all up in my mouth, so before I solve the mystery of where the fuck I am, I decide to take a tooth-brushing break. I mean, if I happened to hook up with someone without remembering I don't exactly want to greet them the morning after with breath like this.

I search around in the cabinet behind the mirror for some toothpaste, and do some shameless snooping while I'm at it. A couple bottles of over-the-counter drugs are on one shelf, the only name of which I bother to read fully is ibuprofen; a couple hair products on another shelf, some hair-wax, mousse, something called "mattifying shape paste", and what looks to be a spare bottle of shampoo, all labelled as "FOR MEN" because somehow capital letters are more manly than lowercase I guess; and on the next shelf lies deodorant (Old Spice Timber scented), a cologne of some kind that I don't recognize the brand of, and a toothbrush and toothpaste.

I snag the toothpaste and close the mirror cabinet, brushing my teeth for a minute or two. I let my eyes wander around the room a bit as I brush my teeth, not so much absorbing the things I see as just giving my eyes something to do.

I spit and rinse my mouth, pulling up some water from the flow of the faucet to swish around my cheeks and remove the last of the toothpaste. I run the head of my toothbrush under the water as well, and when it's clean I set it back down next to the sink where it was before. I open the cabinet to put the toothpaste back where I found it and look at the toothbrush in there again.

It is a drugstore brand standard, a white body and head with a few teal-colored accents along the handle. The bristles are long and white with the same teal color threaded through in a few spots. The bristles are a little worn from use, but look otherwise clean and fairly new. But that's not what caught my eye, it's that the toothbrush is resting in a little holder fixed to the wall inside the cabinet, and though there are two slots, the toothbrush rests alone. Something about it makes me sad.

It also jogs my memory though. I have a toothbrush holder just like it fixed into my mirror cabinet at home. My toothbrushes (all from my aforementioned stockpile of High School Musical themed hygiene products) never fit in it, because the battery and speakers inside their body made the handle much too wide to fit into the slender slot. And there's no mistaking that this is the same kind of holder. It's just like it. Like JUST like it.

Taking a quicker look around, I notice that this bathroom is just like my bathroom as well. The color scheme and towels and shower curtain are different, sure, and this room is quite a bit more orderly than mine, but there's no mistaking that the layout is identical.

No, not quite identical. This one is flipped.

My brain begins to connect the dots, and I form a pretty good idea of where I am.

I open up the mirror cabinet again in an effort to confirm my suspicions. I grab the cologne from the second shelf up and open the top. It's a spray bottle, but enough residue rests against the spritzer nozzle, that when I bring it to my nose, I can smell the cologne clearly.

It smells like grapefruit and the woods after a thunderstorm and that phantom smell of fire after a candle has been blown out.

It smells like Jace.

Why am I at Jace's place?

I look down at my clothing for the first time and notice that the shirt I wear is not mine. It is a large blue shirt with a Dunder Mifflin logo on it. I smell it and it smells like Jace as well. I look nervously around to make sure no one is watching then lift up the shirt to peek underneath. I'm wearing the same underwear that I think I was wearing yesterday, and the same bra.

Which is a good sign. I never put my bra back on after I hook up with people. It's too much work.

But the fact that I'm not wearing my own clothes still has me a little off.

What happened last night?

My hangover isn't too bad, so I couldn't have been that drunk, could I?

Hangover or not, much of last night is a blur for me. I remember Simon and his giant gang of people coming over, and I remember having a good time, doing some dancing, I remember that guy Elias or whatever. Ooh, I remember Raphael and the fried chicken.

I remember Jace smiling that sexy-as-fuck smile at me from across the room, and I remember walking over to talk to him. But I can't for the life of me remember what we talked about or what happened after.

No, well. That's not entirely true. But the parts that I do remember aren't coherent, they're jumbled and confusing. I remember a strange feeling like I was sandwiched between something harsh and cold, and something soft and warm. I remember sounds of thunder fading away, and I remember the roughness of stubble under my fingers.

The more I pull at my memories, the more my head pounds. I feel as though if I think too much, my head will just unravel like a spool of thread.

I turn around and open the door of the bathroom again. I step out into the bedroom, and the smell of cooking food hits me again. Once more, the nausea stays away, though my headache persists.

I look around the bedroom, though I don't study it too much. Jace has the same duvet as me, with neither of them covered. Just the plain white.

I smile a bit, noticing how similar we are in small, seemingly unimportant ways. The door to the bedroom is ajar, and yellow light from the light bulb in the hallway melts into the room, fading away to the white natural light escaping through the breaks in the curtains over the window.

Jace has dark grey canvas coverings bunched up over the window, but light still comes through in small spots. I pull back the curtain and see that it's fairly bright outside. I can't quite tell what time it is though. I look around for a clock and find one on the nightstand next to the bed.

It's an understated white digital clock with black serif font numbers that read 9:43. It's somehow both earlier and later than I expected. I turn to the mirror over the dresser and look myself over a couple times. The t-shirt is anything but indecent, seeing as it goes halfway down my thighs. Still, it feels oddly intimate for a reason I can't identify. The color is muted, and the material of the shirt feels old and soft. It is obviously one that has seen quite a bit of love. It makes the color of my hair look more burgundy than copper, which I'm not very used to. I don't wear blue often.

I pull all my curls up to the crown of my head and twist them into a bun and tie it off with the hair tie on my wrist. The curls always make the bun look bigger than it really is, but I'm not complaining. A few strands fall away and wisp around to frame my face, and the smallest little curls on the back of my neck remain there, their dark color contrasting against my pale skin.

I scrub my face with my hands then turn and walk out of the bedroom, towards the smell of the food.

Jace's apartment is beautiful in its own way, but seeing something so similar to my own yet so different makes it strange to look at. The flat is easy to navigate, for it is just a flipped version of mine.

I turn out of the hallway and find myself in his living room. He stands in the kitchen on the far wall, his back turned to me.

Just like at my place, there is a wall that separates the kitchen from the living room, however it is open, without a door and a glassless window is set into the wall to allow a view between the rooms. Music plays quietly from a small speaker system set on the windowsill there.

He is bent over what looks like the stove, and a bowl of some kind of batter rests next to him on the counter. I pad silently over to the window set into the dividing wall and lean against it.

He turns to the batter and picks up the spoon leaning against the bowl. He stirs it with fervor, then picks it up and holds it over the pan on the stove.

I listen to the music, and it's the tail end of a song I don't know. The last few chords peter out and then the song changes. A favorite of mine begins to play, and Jace, seemingly unaware of my presence, begins to sing along quietly as he pours batter out of the bowl.

"Haven't stopped your smoking yet, so I'll share your cigarette. Just to feel it in my fingers. All my silver dreams lead me to you," he sings. And Jesus H. Christ if it isn't beautiful. He's quiet, and I have to focus a little to hear him over the recorded singer. But his voice is rich and smooth and beautiful and he hits all the notes well and it's just so beautiful. It isn't adenoidal in any way, and though it's quiet, it isn't breathy either; the pitches come out strong.

On top of being smart and funny and cute and sexy as hell, Jace can fucking sing like an angel baby.

I refrain from making noise, not wanting him to know I'm there for fear that he'll stop. He continues singing the whole thing, quietly, and under his breath. His voice breaks a bit on one of the higher notes and you can hear his nervous laughter come through in the words.

He continues all the way to the end of the song, and when the last few chords of this song as well begin to fade away, I make myself known.

"You didn't tell me you could sing, Lightwood," I say.

"Clary!", he yelps, whirling around, eyes wide. He stares at me for a moment looking quite shocked, then sputters out, "I didn't know you were there."

"It was beautiful. I love that song," I tell him.

He smiles sheepishly and says: "Me too." He follows it with a small laugh that sounds similar to a 'heh', then waits before speaking again, looking like he wants to change the subject. "So, how'd you sleep, Fray?" Jace grabs a mug off the counter and pulls it up to his mouth.

"Uh," I begin. "Good. I think." I'm not quite sure how to bring up the next part, "We didn't like... have sex, did we?"

I decide to just be blunt about it, and the result is Jace choking on his coffee.

Now embarrassed, I try to elaborate, but really only manage to babble. "It's just that I don't remember anything last night which I think is because I was drinking a lot but my hangover isn't that bad and I woke up in a strange bed even though we have the same comforter which was weird but I knew it wasn't my place because my fluffy yellow towels weren't there and I smelled your cologne and I don't know if we hooked up, which isn't a bad thing. Like, it's not that I'm not attracted to you, it's just that I don't know if we did or if we even used protection, but I don't think we hooked up because my bra is on and I usually take my bra off and then don't put it back on, but it's on and I know because I checked, and it's black and lacy, and I especially don't wear lacy bras to bed because then they're itchy in the middle of the night, and I know I was going somewhere with this, but now I just don't remember and—"

"Clary, oh my God, breathe. You're going to pass out if you don't stop talking," Jace says, seeming to have resolved his choking situation. I heed his words and take a deep breath. "We didn't hook up last night."

"Well then why am I in your flat, and in your clothes, and sleeping in your bed?"

"Long story," Jace says. "How about I tell you over some breakfast?" At his words, my stomach growls. "And some Advil?" My head throbs again in response, and I nod fervently. "Okay. Just give me a second, I have to make plates. Feel free to sit wherever."

* * *

I throw a few pieces of bacon on each plate, and then make a small stack of pancakes on each. I crack two eggs into a pan as Clary sits down at the table, then throw some salt and pepper on each. They cook quickly with the high heat, and then I lay one on each plate as well. I reach for the advil from one of the cupboards, then grab two glasses. I reach into the fridge and grab the carton of orange juice, then grab forks and knives. Taking two trips so as not to drop anything, I bring everything over to the small circular table under the window where Clary is already situated.

She pours herself and then me a glass of orange juice, which I thank her for. Then I open up the bottle of Advil and drop a couple into her hand. She takes them quickly with a sip of her juice and I do the same.

"So, we didn't hook up?" she reiterates. I answer her with a shake of my head. "Well then what the hell happened?"

* * *

So, explanation of how Clary ended up in Jace's bed in Jace's clothes and what not will be coming next chapter! (In Jace's POV just because it's easier to write monologue type stories from the point of view of the person who's telling them.)

I posted a new playlist to my 8tracks today as well (which is really great in my opinion, although I may be lightly biased), which can be found through my profile _**katelillywalters **_I'm also still going strong on pinterest, with character images, as well as my fashion board, AND I have a Polyvore now listed under _**katelillywalters**_ as well, where I CREATE outfits for the characters, and I'm super proud of it and everything and you guys should totally check it out. It would honestly make my day/week/month/year because I love all of you guys so much.

I'm hoping you guys all know about/are as stoked for the new Shadowhunters TV show as I am! As of now, they have Jace, Isabelle, and Simon all casted, and I am so happy! _Review question: how do you guys feel about the casting? _

_I am _really_ happy about the casting of everyone and I can't wait to see how the show progresses!_

also, because I didn't answer the last question, _my three favorite bands are: Walk the Moon (I've seen them live three times! And I met Nick Petricca the lead singer! and he signed my tour poster and gave me a hug and told me he loved me! I'm a die-hard loser fan), Local Natives, and The Griswolds. I'm pretty sure that since Shut Up &amp; Dance came out, pretty much everyone has heard Walk the Moon, but if you haven't heard the other two and like indie/alternative music I would so check them out I love them with all my heart. _


	17. Mamihlapinatapai

_Hi! sorry it's been a while again! I had a lot of difficulty writing this chapter for a few weeks, I was stuck on the same 400 words and I couldn't figure out how to continue so I just scrapped them and started from scratch._

_Anyways, we broke 200 reviews! Thank you guys so much! This is my first really popular story and I'm just blown away by this. Please keep up the great work you guys! We're already on chapter 17, which is honestly so incredible to me. I haven't always been the most frequent updater, so it's taken us a little longer than some other stories, but we've made it pretty far. This story is still quite far from over. I'm predicting about 35-45 chapters, so we're almost halfway there I think. But like? Seventeen chapters? Almost FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS? That is just so surreal to me. I have always been a writer, but I've never been dedicated to a cohesive story like I am with this one and it's so exhilarating and exciting and oh my gosh. okay. _

_Thanks to all of you guys for reading, and to IWriteNaked for beta'ing. You're all the best. (I almost said "y'all are the best", but I am in no way a southern person and the thought of using the word "y'all" made me uncomfortable for some reason? Idk it was really weird) (I use so many parentheses)._

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"You came up to me from across the room with some kind of terrible pun made out of my name. I think it was Star Wars or something, I don't really remember. It was some complete nerd thing, I know that for sure. And then we laughed and then we talked for a bit," I decide to leave out the fact that I can still recall with vivid detail the exact smell of her hair and how it completely intoxicated me and instead gloss over it, moving on to say, "And then I told you I wanted to kiss you." She blushes and looks down at her plate with a small smile. "We called each other cute, and then you told me there was something you wanted me to see. So you grabbed my hand and led me down the hallway to your room..." Clary picks up her fork, grabbing another bite of pancake and lifting it up to her mouth, "...where we found Maia and Jordan going at it doggy style on your bed."

Her eyes go insanely wide and she gasps, causing the pancake to lodge in the back of her throat. She then proceeds to cough several times, effectively launching the piece of pancake back out of her mouth and (fortunately) right onto her plate.

I expect her to say something, but she only continues to look at me with bulging eyes and a dropped jaw.

I just nod at her and reach for a strawberry out of the bowl on the table. The sweet smell of it reminds me of Clary and her hair against my jaw last night.

"That's fucking gross," is what Clary ends up saying. "Glad I know I need to kick his ass now."

"Anyways, I just presumed that wasn't the thing you wanted to show me, since you seemed to be as shocked as me. I thought you were either going to castrate him or throw up or possibly do both at the same time. So I escorted you out of there and we came over here."

She laughs, and then says, "No, I think for some reason I wanted to show you a sketch I did of you. My fragmented memories of my drunken mind seemed to think that was a great idea."

I put a hand up to my chest feigning flattery. "You drew pictures of me? I'm honored."

"Oh shut up, you sarcastic baby. It was one drawing. And I do it all the time, actually. I like to go to that cafe down the street that has the street-facing wall of windows and I'll pick out cool people to draw. What else am I supposed to do with a honed skill of artistry? Something productive?" She finishes it off with a sound that can only be described as a sarcastic 'pshh'. I smile at her and the thought of her finding me interesting enough to draw. I mean, I'm interesting enough to kiss so I hope I'm interesting enough to draw.

"Anyways, we came over here to escape that nastiness and then..." I haven't been able to decide if I should tell Clary about everything last night or not. It's really embarrassing. I don't really know if it's something I want to share. She looks expectantly at me for the rest of the story so I make up my mind on the fly, "and then there was a thunderstorm. Which freaked me the fuck out. I have an intense fear of loud noises after a childhood trauma so I ended up having a bit of a panic attack. It was really manly and attractive." I see Clary's eyes soften as I explain so I tried to lighten it a bit at the end. "You escorted me to my panic room, the bathroom, where we both curled up, knees to chest, in my bathtub. And you told me the story of your dad. It was actually really helpful for me, to get my mind off of my own stupid traumatic childhood and to listen to yours instead. Who knew that trauma was the remedy for trauma?"

I expected her to at least chuckle a bit, but her brows remain furrowed, and her eyes stay glued to the rain trailing down the window.

I used to watch the rain droplets trail down the windows when I first moved here. I spent a lot of time in a government-appointed shrink's office, but it was like once I got in there my throat sealed shut. I didn't particularly want to talk to the shrink, because I wasn't in desperate need of some revelation that would open my eyes to the reality of my trauma. It was just trauma. That's what it was, plain and simple. So, I waited out my Thursday hour from 11:00-12:00 by watching the rain race down the glass. the shrink would sometimes try to initiate conversation, always brought me a small snack and some juice, but otherwise left me alone. She would sometimes read novels and stuff too behind her large wooden desk so I know her hour wasn't necessarily wasted.

Sometimes I would imagine the raindrops were cars in a car chase, the police always losing. Just like in real life, the police were never fast enough. Some Robin Hood type criminal would escape with a cool car and a hot girlfriend and priceless jewels to sell on the black market.

That was another thing, I always imagined the black market as an actual tangible market. I always pictured open stands in some Southeast Asian alley where people hid their faces and everyone dressed in black. The mysterious figures would advertise whatever they were selling, be it human organs or new, not-yet-released movies, by shouting it in some kind of sneaky stage whisper. The key trait was that all the stands were collapsible, so that if the authorities ever found it, everyone could throw down their stands and run off in an instant.

"I told you about my dad?" Clary whispers, so quietly I almost don't hear it over my thoughts of the black market. Her eyes trail slowly from the window and seem to search the room before finding mine. She looks broken, almost vulnerable.

It makes me want to reach across the table and trap her in a hug, holding her tightly until all of the fragmented puzzle pieces fit back together into one whole piece of art.

Instead, I just nod.

Her eyebrows unfurrow like a tightly coiled spool of thread unraveling to a loose state of disorganized organization.

"Huh," is all Clary says. I can't really tell how she feels about it, so I skip to the next part.

"After you told the whole story, we were both pretty emotional. We just kind of sat in silence for a while. I don't think you really realized how much time passed between when you started talking and when you stopped, or how long we sat there afterwards. It was a long time. It was really wonderful actually, I haven't sat in such a comfortable, peaceful, safe silence in so long." She looks down at her plate before reaching out and grabbing a strawberry from the bowl in the center of the table as well.

"And then uh..." I don't know how to tell her we kissed if she doesn't remember. what am I supposed to say? "I reached out and held you, and we held each other for a few minutes, and then we kissed. In my bathtub. In the dark. It was pretty hot." I say awkwardly, going for some macho suave kind of thing, but knowing it didn't work. I just sound like a loser. Clary blushes, and brings her hand up to her face, subconsciously running two fingers over the plump of her lips with a faraway look in her eyes.

"And then you fell asleep. On top of me. In my bathtub." I leave out the part about how I sat for a little while and just held her to my chest, listening to the sound of her heartbeat echoing in the otherwise silent room, not telling about how I let it calm me down, and imagining that the quiet beating of her heart in her chest was the only sound in the world. Instead, I skip ahead about twenty minutes. "Then, I had to somehow maneuver the two of us into a standing position without waking you up. It was pretty hard, it took me a while." Clary laughs at what must be the mental image of me trying to remove the two of us from the bathtub.

"Once I got you up, I was going to carry you over to your place and let you sleep there but when I went to go next door the door was locked. So I walked back over here and set you down in my bed. I tucked you into the blankets and stuff and turned of the light, only for you to wake up and start whining. You were complaining, and called me a 'monster' for allowing you to sleep in jeans," I laugh, remembering how exasperated she'd been last night. _"Skinny jeans, no less!_" you'd said.. "You asked me to help you put pajamas on and I begrudgingly said yes."

Clary looks at me astonished, and says jokingly, "You undressed me begrudgingly?! I've never met a person who wasn't thrilled to take my clothes off in the darkness of their bedroom."

"Yeah, well it wasn't exactly the sexiest thing in the world, what with you constantly snapping at me for being a monster and swatting at my head and all that."

"I swatted at your head?" Clary asks, covering her mouth to muffle a laugh. I wish she wouldn't cover up like that; I love her laugh.

"Several times. It took me like ten minutes to get your jeans off. How the hell do you walk around all the time with jeans that tight? And how do you get them over your ankles when you try to take them off? I just don't get it." She laughs again, and this time she doesn't cover it. She just looks at me with eyes twinkling and teeth showing. "Nice underwear by the way," I say with a smirk. Clary scoffs with a smile on her face and swats at me from across the table. "There you go with the swatting again!" I shout with a laugh, my hands flying up over my face.

"I can't believe you, Jace Lightwood," Clary says, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

"Nice bra by the way too. Black lace is pretty hot," I say just to fluster her.

And flustered she gets. She stands up and marches towards the door. "I'm leaving!" she shouts, though the smile on her face and in her voice show she's only kidding. I jump up too and beat her to the door.

"Oh really?" I ask, loving her frustrated smile.

"Yes!" she huffs again, crossing her arms once more. She leans back and throws her weight into one leg, letting the other relax out to the side and effectively jutting out her hip brazenly.

"I guess you'll never hear the rest of the story then..." I trail off, lazily walking back over to the table, looking at Clary expectantly over my shoulder as I go. Her resolve seems to melt as she spins on her heel and walks over to the table as well.

"Fine," she says. "I kind of didn't want to walk out into the hallway dressed in your t-shirt anyway. People would get ideas."

"True," I agree. "So, after I got your jeans off, I went to put my sweats on you and they were so huge that they would just slip off completely. It was like there was nothing for them to hold on to in the first place. You mumbled something about me having "'giant sweatpants'," I emphasize with air quotes, "and then started singing off-key to yourself."

Clary looks mortified. "What did I sing?"

"I actually didn't recognize it at first. I had to ask, and you scoffed at me for 'being stupid'. Apparently it was a song called Fabulous from High School Musical 2, which makes sense because I never actually saw that one. I only ever saw the first." Clary shakes her head into her hands but snaps it back up when she hears my confession.

"What?" she asks. "You mean, you fantasized about Gabriella Montez as a child and never even saw her in her hottest form? She was a lifeguard in HSM 2; she wore this bright red swimsuit and got her hair cut and dyed and she looked hot as fuck. I can't believe you. We'll have to have a marathon one of these days."

"Well, I know how much you love High School Musical, considering you have a fucking toothbrush! I thought they stopped making those in 2005."

"2007, actually. And yes, I happen to very much like High School Musical. It was my childhood obsession and I am not giving it up too easily. The toothbrushes actually came out around my fifteenth birthday so Jordan went to the nearest drugstore and bought out like the whole store. It was hilarious, everyone was looking at him so weird. Best birthday present ever, and I still have enough to last me another year or two. Wait, speaking of my toothbrush, how did you go get it if the door was locked?"

"I'm getting there," I say. "Anyways, so you were singing Fabulous and I was taking your pants off and then once those were off you grabbed my shirt from me. You told me to turn around, which I did, and then you got the shirt on and snuggled down into my bed. It was actually pretty cute. You took up like a tenth of the bed with your entire body you curled up so tight. You yelled at me to open the windows, which I did, and then you went to bed. I grabbed some blankets, slept out here on the couch, and when I woke up I went over to get you some clothes and your toothbrush.

"I don't think you're going to have to worry about punishing Jordan by the way. I think he took care of that kind of on his own."

"What do you mean?" Clary asks.

"You'll see. Anyways, I grabbed you some clothes and your toothbrush and came back over. I made some breakfast and did some singing, you came out and here we are." I smile at her. "Long story short: we were drunk, I got scared, you told a story, we kissed, then we both slept. Pretty exciting night, huh?"

"Yeah," Clary says, looking at me in a funny way. I ask her what the face is for, and she replies, "I don't know. It's just that, well, I don't really know how to put this. You make me nervous. But not in a bad way. Like when I talk to you I feel bubbly inside and it makes me happy and I like you a lot and it's cool that we kissed, that makes me happy too, because when I first woke up I thought I remembered something weird and it turns out it really was just that bathtub kissing situation and so I wanted to ask you something, but now I don't know and—shit. I'm doing that rambling thing again, aren't I?" she asks, after her long-winded (admitted) rambling.

"Yeah," I tell her, with a smile on my face, liking a lot the fact that she likes me a lot.

"Well, what I mean to ask was, um," she tugs on the end of my shirt against her leg, the faded blue in contrast against her pale skin, dotted sparsely with freckles, "was I a good kisser?"

I laugh loudly, without meaning to. I don't even know why I'm laughing, it's just hilarious to me how nervous she was, and now she looks flustered that I'm laughing. She swats at my arm and I laugh again.

"It's not funny! It's a serious question! I need to know for the next time I find myself drunk in a bathtub with someone," Clary says jokingly, going against her own declaration of it not being funny.

"Fine, Fray. You were an excellent kisser last night. I thoroughly enjoyed myself," I tell her, leaning in a bit closer with a smile.

"Good," she says, her eyes flicking down to my lips and then back to my eyes. She bites her bottom lip in a smile and leans forward too, coming up onto her knees on the chair and putting her weight into her elbows on the table.

My heart beats faster in my chest in the silliest way, and I find myself becoming incredibly nervous. I don't even know why. I'm never nervous around women. I am the epitome of a ladies man, I ooze confidence. Why am I suddenly so nervous?

Clary leans close enough that when she opens her mouth I can smell the strawberries and maple syrup on her breath. She's looking right at me, and I can tell she wants me to kiss her, but I'm so nervous I'm frozen in place.

"Mamihlapinatapai," I say and then curse myself silently. What the fuck is that?

"What?" Clary asks, backing her head away slightly.

"Mamihlapinatapai, noun: a look shared between people, each wishing the other would initiate something they both desire, but neither wants to begin. M-A-M-I-H-L-A-P-I-N-A-T-A-P-A-I." What the honest-to-God _fuck_ am I doing?

"What?" Clary repeats, this time with a soft laugh, re-iteritating my sentiments exactly

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. Although, technically, I kind of do know. "It was one of the words in my practice booklet for that spelling bee with the ass-crocs girl and I got nervous and it just came out. I didn't even know I remembered those words. You just make me so incredibly nervous in a way no one else has before and it's terrifyingly new, and exciting, and I love it, I think. And I was nervous then too, it must just be some kind of reflex? I was just nervous because I wanted to kiss you but—" I'm the one rambling this time, but Clary cuts me off with her lips against mine. I can feel her smiling, and I smile too. My hands come up to hold her hair and she smiles wider before pulling back.

"You make me nervous too."

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_Thanks for reading!_

_As per usual, I have a polyvore, a pinterest, a tumblr, a twitter, an 8tracks, a (newish, actually) wattpad, and an instagram! I have links to all of them in my bio. Check me out, I'm pretty cool if I do say so myself._

Review question _(which isn't that existential because I have a ton of homework that I'm putting off that I actually need to do (especially since I have a week and a half of school left, including finals))_: **When is your birthday?**

Mine is November 3rd!

_Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to review!_

_-kate_


	18. Sensation and Deflation

**Heyo. I know it's been forever and I'm really sorry and I wish I could give you some excuse other than my lack of inspiration and general laziness. But I can't. Sorry.**

**Thanks Ash, as always, for being really cool all the time always forever.**

**Anyways, because I made you guys wait so long, this chapter is twice as long as usual (it's 5000 words holy shit guys). So enjoy! (More notes on the bottom). And beware, there be angst in them there hills. fuck i'm so lame.**

**long stretches of _italics_**** are flashbacks.**

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Jordan opens the door after the third loud knock from Jace's fist. He looks about as hungover as is to be expected, his normally rich skin looking sallow and heavy bags resting under his eyes.

"Morning, Jordan," Jace says without too much enthusiasm. After downing a few more cups of coffee and eating the large breakfast he had made, Jace and I were staving off the last of the hangover. Mine hadn't been too bad in the beginning anyway, thanks to Jace, but it still wasn't exactly pleasant.

Jordan glances behind him and looks to the clock on the wall. "It's 12:30 in the afternoon, Jace."

"Shit, is it really that late? Huh," Jace says, scrubbing his hand up and down his face. Looking at him from the corner of my eyes, I can still detect some of the color in his cheeks from earlier, and still see the slight puff of his lips past their normal plump. His hair is dishevelled and it's almost painfully obvious there were fingers threaded through it not too long ago. I hope against hope that I don't look as bad as Jace, and that Jordan is maybe too inattentive to notice something like kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

I open my mouth, about to tell Jordan that I want to get to my room to change out of Jace's Dunder Mifflin shirt and put on some goddamned _pants_, but he cuts me off before I can even start.

"Clary, I know what you're going to say," _uh, no you don't_, "and I want you to know that I'm really sorry about last night. First off that I did that in your bed. Because thinking back on that now, that's really fucking gross. But I'm also sorry that I did it _with Maia_. I only heard later about how much of a bitch she was to you, and I also hadn't realized that this Maia was the same Maia that was Simon's Maia. That hit me after we," he stops to clear his throat, "halted our actions and she started talking shit about Simon. And then it all kinda clicked into place. And I gave her shit for giving him shit and then she started talking shit about _you_, while getting dressed in your room, which, _no one_ talks shit about Clarissa Fray if I have anything to do about it."

My heart feels really warm all of a sudden and I am reminded again of why I love Jordan Kyle and just how much I do. I stop him to warmly say "Thanks, Jordan," at the exact same time that Jace says, "Your name's Clarissa?" while gawking at me. Jordan ignores us both.

"I went to apologize to you last night but I couldn't find you until I got Jace's text telling me he'd taken you next door. Which was probably good because the party seemed to devolve pretty fast over here. After I gave Maia shit for giving you shit she stormed out and by that point everyone had been seriously drinking. It seemed like the only sober ones in this place were Bat and Catarina. So they offered to ferry people home. It was pretty sweet of them. Especially considering I don't think some of those people inside would have made their drive all the way home. I mean, that dark-haired model chick," Jordan describes her, then in a moment of recollection snaps and points to Jace, "your sister, Isabelle, she was giving Simon a lap dance. _Simon_." I look over and see that Jace's jaw is dropped as far as mine is. There's no fucking way, is there? There can't be. Simon is _Simon_, and Isabelle is, well, _Isabelle_. There's just no way he would have been able to land that.

Seeing the disbelief etched clearly into our features, Jordan only nods.

"Anyways, by way of apology, I got this place all cleaned up, did some grocery shopping, and fixed up your bed for you. I washed the sheets this morning but I knew that wasn't really going to work for you so I passed them off to the homeless camp a couple blocks south. And then I went and got you some new sheets and a new comforter."

I know that the bedding must have been expensive and I had stuff here I could have used for a few weeks before I went out to buy it on my own, so knowing that he still went out and did that for me makes my heart constrict in a way that only Jordan can make it. I jump from my seat on the couch over to his in the large plush chair. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. His big arms circle around my small waist and he pulls me up into his lap, holding me almost like a child. If it were anyone else and I found myself feeling like a child I would be pissed and probably flustered, but with Jordan, I like feeling like a kid. He brings out the child in me like no one else. And I love that about him.

"Thanks, Jor," I whisper into his ear. He hugs me tighter. But when a thought crosses my mind, I pull back and stare into his eyes. "Hold on," I say, fairly sure that he can feel my breath against the skin on his nose, "what kind of sheets did you get?"

"I got the white flannel sheets I know you like, and a new yellow throw blanket too," He says to me, and he _must_ feel my breath against his nose because I can feel his against my chin. I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding at his answer and the knowing smile that comes with it. I didn't want him to have gone to all the trouble for the wrong sheets.

I love sleeping on flannel sheets. I bought a flannel sheet set in my early teens and have been using nothing else since. They bring with them a sense of comfort that is unmatchable. However, Jace's sheets were actually quite nice. They were really soft in a different way. Whereas the flannel material of mine makes you aware of their presence and their softness and comfort always, Jace's were the kind of soft that flew under the radar, like you were engulfed in them and practically unaware until you had already stood up and noticed the softness missing. Thinking of Jace and his sheets reminds me that he is in fact sitting right there on the couch, so I turn away from Jordan and sort of shimmy out of his lap with a laugh.

"You did more than enough Jordan," I say, turning to admire the clean state of my apartment before turning back to him, "so thank you. Consider yourself forgiven. Just know that if you ever fuck someone in my bed again I will personally chop your balls off, new sheets or no." Jordan laughs half-heartedly until he sees the level of seriousness behind my stern eyes and then the laughs die in his throat. He nods once and I retract my evil glare, the room instantly becoming just a little bit lighter, the air just a little bit easier to breathe. Unlike the feeling I had been surrounded by only a few hours earlier with Jace, when I had shamelessly made out with him on his couch and I felt like the air was going to drown me.

_Abandoning our plates on the table after our confessions of nervousness, Jace had grabbed me by the waist and deepened the kiss. It had been wonderful and soft yet intense, much the same as the impact in a pillow fight. There was a rush of extreme force and a collision, all the energy from the wind-up going straight to the target, yet no matter how hard you really try to hit someone, it's still a pillow. Jace's lips were like my pillow. There was a lot of power behind the kiss, but it was still a brush of lips against lips, and no matter how much effort was poured into a kiss it was still soft and warm and welcoming. Jace continued to kiss me, and when I wound my hands up to the nape of his neck and tugged lightly against the hair that grew a little too long back there, he backed the two of us up until his own knees hit the edge of his sofa and he sat down pulling me to sit down next to him._

_I sat on my knees, facing him from the side. His hands moved from my waist to my cheeks which he cupped in his long fingers, reaching back so his fingertips rooted into the hair behind my ears. When I felt a tug somewhere inside me, I moved from kneeling next to him to kneeling over him, straddling his legs with my own. I sat back against his legs and he kissed me harder._

_I was dizzy and happy and too wrapped up in all that was happening to really process all that was happening, but I wasn't complaining. I felt comfortable and I felt safe and I felt carefree. When his lips moved from mine to trace down to my chin and then down my jaw, planting fast sloppy kisses as he went, I tried to steady my breath. I tried, and I failed._

_His mouth left open-mouthed kisses on the juncture between my neck and my shoulder and I breathed out his name. For some reason I wasn't nervous anymore, and it didn't seem as if Jace was either. I remember that feeling of weightlessness disappearing as a heavy weight settled inside of me and my breaths started coming faster. I had breathed his name again and his teeth had grazed my shoulder in response and it only made me breathe his name once more, the soft syllable escaping from my mouth like air from a balloon._

_He took the whispers as the encouragement he wanted and he spread his hands against the flat of my back, the long fingers splaying against the soft material of his shirt I was wearing. He pushed my chest flush against his and I focused all my energy on just breathing as his mouth continued to skim the surface of my skin. The way he pressed me closer and closer to his body was like every ounce of him wanted to be near every ounce of me, a feeling I reciprocated totally. I bit my lip as his ministrations paused, and instead of a wide, sweeping, area-encompassing kiss on my shoulder, he began to leave small pecks dotted here and there. Knowing the spots he was kissing intimately, I realized he was leaving a small butterfly of a kiss, a simple brush of soft lips against skin, over each one of the freckles on my shoulder. I shuddered as he moved his way back up my neck then and he kissed the plane of my jaw while his arms encompassed me and my fingers wound deep into the soft silky tendrils of his golden hair and it felt like he was all around me and—_

"Clary?" Jordan calls, his hand wrapping around my small wrist and pulling me back down to earth. "You okay? You're all red all of a sudden," Jordan observes. And I can tell that I am because I can feel the heat on my cheeks and know that I'm blushing all the way down my neck and chest as well. My breathing is loud in my own ears and it's also remarkably fast.

"Fine," I reply and chance a glance over at Jace which is a _bad idea_ because he is reclined in his spot on the couch and it was like he was _waiting_ for me to look at him because the moment I do he gives me a knowing smile hidden behind a smirk. I clear my throat and go for the first thing I can think that might save my sorry ass from mortification. "It must be the hangover still, I got really nauseous just now. Remind me never to drink whipped cream vodka ever again." In some divine intervention, Jordan buys it.

I focus on trying to bring my pulse and breathing down to a pace that wouldn't frighten a medical professional and I suddenly feel the air come down around me again and it's too hot and too heavy and too much to think straight and I need to leave. "I'm going to go put on some clean clothes, preferably an ensemble that includes pants," I say, gesturing to the white freckled legs currently on display under the Dunder-Mifflin shirt (dress) and heading off to my room. I close and lock the door behind me then turn to lean against it. The windows on the opposite wall are open thank god and I relish the cool breeze coming through them as I sink to the ground against my door.

I sit there until I'm positive I can breathe again, then I move to my closet. I grab my pair of dark wash super skinny jeans and a loose, semi-sheer off-white dolman top. It's one of the softest materials in my closet. I pull off my bra, scratching at the spots on my back where the irritable material had rested for so long and trying to sooth the itchiness out of it. I grab a halter bralette out of my bra drawer. The black of its fabric makes my skin look paler and adds some definition to my freckles, though those things hadn't even crossed my mind when I pulled it out. I pulled it out because it's the closest I can go to bra-less and not nip out all over the place. I throw on the ensemble and then reach into my sock drawer. I grab a pair of forest green trouser socks that I picked up at the Saturday market a few months ago. They're chunky and pretty obviously hand knit, and they are undeniably comfortable.

I unlock and open the door, padding on silent sock feet to the mouth of the hallway, listening to Jace and Jordan's conversation. I pause out of sight of the two of them and listen for anything they might be saying that's of interest. I am about to head out of the hallway in resignation but I stop when I hear my name.

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"Okay, spill the beans, Jace," Jordan says to me, "You were over here this morning for her toothbrush and you said you guys didn't sleep together and I took your word for it but then you both show up here all disheveled and Clary's wearing nothing but your shirt? And then she gets all splotchy and starts like hyperventilating and shit, I mean, how am I supposed to interpret that?" I pause for a second, not fully realizing that Jordan had caught on to all the things that he totally could have caught on to. Jordan fills the silence when I don't. "Are you into her? Like really into her? Because it seems like she's pretty into you and stuff, and if that's what you guys want then you should. It's just that Clary is basically my little sister and I want to make sure she's okay. And you're my best bud so I want to make sure you're okay, too. And I want you to know that I think, if you'll both be happy, you should go for it."

I give Jordan a weak smile in return.

If only Jordan had been filled in on the last fourteen hours or so. I still remember the way her arms had felt wound around my neck and the way she had said my name when I had kissed her neck and shoulder and the salty sweet taste of her skin and the way I wasn't sure I was going to be able to keep it together. But I also still remember the way she had seemed to just deflate once she had tried to readjust her position in my lap and knocked the end table with her elbow and sent the picture frame resting on it tumbling to the couch. I still remember the apprehension and the look of thinly disguised regret as she saw the picture of Kaelie and me smiling and embracing the way a couple typically does for a picture.

I still remember the way she had untangled herself from me and I had felt so vulnerable that I had shut her out which infuriated her but her lecture had infuriated me.

I didn't need to be reminded that I was _just_ coming out of a relationship. I knew that. And I also knew that it had nothing to do with the nervousness I felt whenever I was near Clary or the pull that drew me to her whenever I wasn't.

But she apparently remembered that she didn't want to be anybody's rebound, and that had been the end of that.

So it was nice that Jordan decided to give the two of us his "blessing" or whatever it was he was doing, but it also supremely doesn't matter because, as I tell him, "Clary doesn't want me anyway."

* * *

I bite my knuckle from my spot still hidden in the hallway. It's not that I don't want him, because frankly I do, it's just that I can't. I can't like someone like Jace. Jace, who is a ladies man if I've ever seen one, who catches the attention of every girl who sees him, who I've known for less than two weeks and with whom I've already done more than I probably should have.

_His lips, moving insistently against mine were all I could think about. His hands had slid from their spot pressing against my back down to my hips and then up into the large shirt. They now pressed me into him from between my bare shoulder blades. His hands were calloused but gentle and held me with a crushing tenderness._

_It was so warm in the pocket we had created here, this pocket of us that followed neither time nor space the way it was really supposed to. I shifted my knees to sit further up in his lap and as I did, my elbow knocked the table next to the couch. He laughed into my mouth as the contents of the table top toppled to the couch and I laughed with him until something caught my eye. A simple black picture frame, one you could find at the checkout of the craft store, lay on the cushion._

_With a small noise, I detached my mouth from his and looked down at the picture in the frame. It was a picture of Jace and a tall, tan, leggy blonde at some kind of party. They've got their arms around each other and they're both smiling at the flashing camera. Neither of their smiles is exaggerate or embarrassing, but more the kind of smile a celebrity might have on the red carpet._

_My eyes hone in on the girl. She is like a female Jace, radiant and beautiful and golden and tall and unblemished and everything I'm absolutely not. And I know who it is without him having to explain._

_Their bodies are pressed together and while they could be friends, their entwined fingers say otherwise._

_This must be Kaelie._

_And suddenly I feel weird about this whole encounter. He still has a framed photo of him and his ex-girlfriend sitting next to his couch and here I am with his hands up my shirt and my tongue in his mouth. What must he think of me?_

_I grab his forearms and remove his hands from where they rested against the soft skin of my back. I look up in his eyes and I see the same deflated expression I currently feel._

_There's no way I can compare to a girl like Kaelie, we both know that. And I just sealed some kind of sad deal by making out with him here on his couch. We've known each other for what, two weeks? And I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I must look so desparate. Desperate and trying too hard for someone who is clearly out of my league._

_His hands wrap around my upper arms and he whispers, "Hey, you okay?" He sounds genuinely concerned and it's a little too much for me and I'm still feebly trying to get my breathing under control. My whole body is erupting in shivers and although his skin is incredibly warm I feel like my proximity to him is only making it worse. I shrug his hands off my arms and awkwardly stand from my spot in his lap to walk over to the window. I look out at the city and the milling bodies on the street. What would they do about a situation like this? What would they think of me?_

_Suddenly and stupidly I feel like crying, but I don't necessarily want to do that here. I rub my hands up and down my arms with fervor, trying to scrub away the goosebumps._

_"Clary?" he asks again his tone soft, and I start at the closeness of his voice. I know he's only a few steps behind me but I don't turn around._

_"What are we doing, Jace?" I ask him, surprising myself at the waver in my voice._

_"I think it was pretty clear what we were doing," Jace replies, attempting at humor. But I'm not having it right now._

_"No, really. We've known each other for what, two weeks? Suddenly I'm sleeping in your bed and making out with you while wearing your shirt? You broke up with your girlfriend two weeks ago. I don't want to be anybody's rebound, especially not yours." I tell him honestly, and even though I feel freezing cold I don't move except to turn towards him as I speak._

_"Clary, you're not a rebound. It really isn't like that," he says, arms open and moving closer to me again. I can feel how warm he is even from here and I fight the part of me (a pretty large part if I'm being truthful) that wants to walk to him and let him hold me._

_"Well then what is it like?" I take a step back, closer to the open window where cold air flows in, and further from Jace who is golden and warm and may very well be the sun himself._

_"I don't know," Jace says, and lets his arms drop as soon as I take the step back. He retracts from me like a rubber band that was stretched too far, clearly sensing that I don't exactly want him to hold me right now. No, that's not right, I do want him to hold me, I just can't let him. Because I know that if he does, my whole argument, my whole resolve, will crumble to pieces. "I've never had an experience like this before," Jace continues. "I've never been this goddamned nervous around anyone as I am with you." He clenches and unclenches his extended hands at me as if to give credibility to his statement. "I've never felt such a connection to someone else so fast. And, sure, I've had one-night-stands and the like before, I've established connections with people in a pinch, but never like this. It's not like that with you. I feel safe with you. I find myself telling you things I don't tell other people."_

_"That doesn't mean we have to suddenly jump each other's bones! I'm not like that; I've never been like that. I just feel like things are going too fast. This is too fast for me. And I love everything that's happened, just maybe not how quickly. You just broke up with your really hot girlfriend, and I don't want to be the girl you're kissing just because she's there. I don't ever want to be that," It's not until I hiccup a small sob that I realize my cheeks are wet and even though I told myself I wouldn't cry here in front of Jace, I went ahead and did it anyway. I go back to rubbing my hands up and down my arms almost violently now, shivers overtaking my body from the thin clothing and the open window and from my raging emotions. I always shiver uncontrollably like this when I get emotional, just like I cry whenever I get angry._

_Jace closes the gap between us in a single step and wraps me in his warm arms. I don't fight it this time, just because I don't see the point anymore. I continue to violently shiver even though his arms begin to warm mine. He rests his head, ear down, against mine and whispers soothing shh's against my hair. I draw in a large, wet, shaking breath and sniffle. "That's not what you are, Clary. You could never be that. You could never be that to me." His hand reaches up and strokes the curls resting on the back of my neck._

_My shivers begin to diminish and I let him just hold me. I know it directly goes against the exact thing I'm arguing, but his arms are warm and my skin is still covered in goosebumps. He eventually turns us so that his back is facing the window instead of mine, trying to shield me from the cold. My cheeks are still wet, but I can feel the cool lick of the breeze drying them and sending away the evidence of any crying. I stopped shedding tears several minutes ago, just let the preexisting ones soak their trail down my face._

_"I can't be that, Jace. I can't be — whatever this is. I just can't."_

_"Well then don't, Clary. Let's be friends. Let's forget all of whatever this has been. Let's get to know eachother better, let's become stellar neighbors. Let's make every other pair of hot neighbors jealous of our hot neighborliness. Let them bask in our neighborly glory." He pauses for a moment, and when he continues, the tinge of humor in his voice is gone. "I want to spend more time with you, but above all I just want you to be happy." I sniffle again._

_"I can't seem to help myself when I'm with you. I've never been drawn to someone else so quickly, and it scares me. I don't know what is happening between us, and so I don't know how to handle it. And that scares me so much. I'm just scared by whatever this is and wherever it's going and I think it's best for both of us if we cut this tangent off before it really gets going. Then we have time to wait and see what happens. See how our feelings change. Maybe it's just because this is a new relationship, and it started in such a strange way. I've never met someone else on a chance—well somewhat chance—encounter like that before and had something stick. And I don't really know how to move forward from here. I think the best thing for both of us is to just be friends. Let's be friends and get to know each other better and give ourselves some space—hell, maybe just give me some space to figure my shit out. I just need to figure out what I'm feeling and I can't do that when I'm around you like this," I gesture to the two of us and the way we're standing so close, "because when I'm around you like this it's like I can't even think." I take a deep breath after my rambling monologue and look up at him. His eyes are staring out the window and they look very far away. "I need to just be your friend, that's what would make me happy."_

_Jace's breath faltered for only a moment before he replied, "Of course, Clary."_

Pulling my knuckle out from between my teeth and quickly wiping it against the leg of my second-skin-tight jeans, I take a deep breath, imagining that I'm filling every alveolus in my lungs with fresh clean air. Air that isn't poisoned with memory or regret.

And then I step out into the living room with a very charlatan smile, pretending that I was not just completely eavesdropping and that a feeling of wrongness isn't currently settling into the bottom of my stomach like lead.

* * *

***Warning: long author's note ahead. There's no ranting though I promise***  
**Okay so I hope you liked that, I know it's probably not what you were expecting at all but hey, I've got to drag this shit out. I'm honestly kidding I actually was planning on this from the beginning, and I really love this story a lot. To address the many of you who inquired: no, I am not planning on abandoning this story. I know I promised that on my first story and then abandoned it, but this story drives me and excites me in a way nothing else ever has. And I love getting your favorites and follows and reviews because they remind me again why I continue to write it and show me that maybe I'm not the only one who gets excited over this story.**

**Okay so a couple of things now.**

**1st: I wrote a couple one-shots while I was gone from this story, and have only finalized and posted one so far but I plan on finishing the others too. The one I posted is called Home and it's a songfic for the song Home *(shocker, I know)* by Edward Sharpe &amp; the Magnetic Zeros. It's just a couple thousand words of drabbling relating to Clary and Simon and their struggle with leaving each other for college. And I don't know it's kinda lame and sappy but they're my BroTP forever and ever and I wrote this and it would mean _**__a lot__**_ to me if any of you checked it out and maybe reviewed/faved/followed. I am like really proud of myself and I honestly think it's one of my most beautiful writing pieces.**

**2nd: I started watching The 100 per _rippingbutterflywings'_s suggestion and holy shit oh my god what a good show. If any of you have watched it, send me a PM so we can talk about how wonderful it is together. And if you haven't seen the show, grab your laptop and watch it like immediately. I watched it over on Putlocker because I'm a pirating son of a bitch and don't have cable, so I know you can see it there and if you have netflix (which I don't because I'm a truly sad individual) the first season is up on there. seriously watch it omg not only does it have kickass storyline and plot, but it is filled with really cool, racially diverse, well-developed male and female characters and has a canon bisexual (maybe pan, they didn't actually specify) character and a cool as heck lesbian and a smart, kickass disabled female character in season 2 and they don't force any romance when it's unnecessary and there's np queerbaiting and bellamy is so hot and it's just so cool ugh I just can't vouch for it enough I love it so much. which sort of leads into...**

**3rd: i was looking around for some good fics for The 100 and found that the options over on Ao3 were a little more diverse and well written I guess? But I wanted to ask your guys' opinion before I did anything, I just feel like I could reach a larger audience if I also posted this story on Ao3. I would obviously continue to update and be active on here, but I think that branching across the two sites will get me a larger audience, and to be quite honest Ao3 is still in beta mode and already is more clean and user-friendly than ffn in my opinion. If you have no idea what I'm talking about Ao3 is another fanfiction/writing service similar to ffn and wattpad. Its full name is Archive of Our Own, but it's shortened to Ao3 bc that's seriously a mouthful. Because it's still a beta service, you need an invitation from an existing member to create an account but that's a lot simpler than it sounds. If you know someone personally who is already on the site (like me!), they can send you an invite or you can sign up for the invite wait list (which will send them out in big waves, though it might take a while for you to get yours). I went the waitlist option and got an email in my inbox like a day and a half later which isn't bad at all, although that was at least 8 months ago and I know they've only grown more popular since then so obtaining an invite might take a little longer. I recommend you guys check out the site and if you want an invite, just send me a PM and i'll get one sent over to you. Let me know in a review if you're on board with me double posting.**

**This author's note is incredibly long okay wow.**

**HEY ALSO JUST SO YOU KNow i did some math and it turns out that if every single person who follows this story left a review on every chapter, we would have almost 5000 reviews. Keep that in mind, considering we only have 230. (i didn't mean for that to sound bitchy, just encouraging)**

**Review question: **OKay this isn't even really a question, but I want to write a ton of one-shots right now and I was hoping you guys would/could send me some prompts. So leave a prompt for me, any idea you have, any ship (though I would appreciate we keep it to TMI) and if I am inspired by your prompt, I'll probably write a fic for you! It can be something as simple as like "coffeeshop!au where Clace are employees" or something like that, or you can leave a song in a review and I could read the lyrics and pick a tone-appropriate thing to write about! I just really want to branch out in my writings and stuff and I think this could help me a lot! I would 10000000% appreciate it if you guys would help me out!

**Thanks for reading this insanely long chapter and (maybe) reading this insanely long author's note (no seriously, this is like 1200 words of just author's note. _Holy author's note Batman!_) (i swear i'm not actually that big a nerd idk whats up with me today). let me know what you think in a review!**

**-kate**


	19. 9 Weeks as Just Friends

**Okay I just want to start with an apology. 85 days is too long to have to wait for a chapter. Especially since I've had this one sitting written on my google docs for an embarrassingly long time. I just had to do some layouts and really figure out my structure and where exactly I want to go from here. And that took me a REALLY long time. I didn't want to lock myself in somehow with a direction I couldn't follow in the long run. So I spent ACTUAL WEEKS working on that. And by the time that was finished, I was tired of this story. And tired of writing in general. And that sucked. **

**That was really really weird. Not writing for that long just because it felt like a chore every time I booted up my computer, it was an icky thing. So then I sat down one day and wrote 14,000 words. And it was such a cathartic relief. And then I logged off for a while again. And finally, here I am, editing and finalizing and posting. I have the next four-ish chapters done, and I'm ready to write the ones after that, and I think you guys are going to like where this is going (even though it will be an angsty, denial-ridden process).**

**Now that I'm back, I hope you guys will be too. **

**I'm ready to stick around.**

* * *

"Bye, man," I say as I wrap Jordan in a hug just before security. He claps my back in affection and moves on to pick Clary up in his arms. He swings her around a few times before he sets her down and ruffles her hair.

"I love you, Jordan," Clary says to him and wraps her arms around his middle once more. He kisses the top of her orange-y hair and smiles widely.

"I love you too, Clare," he says. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too," Clary says, her throat tight. "Do me a favor and check in with Jon when you get back. I haven't seen him since I moved and he loves you."

"I will," Jordan says. He leans down to whisper something in her ear and Clary blushes a bit and shakes her head. She whispers something back to him. I feel a little intrusive watching the exchange so I turn around and pretend to admire the architecture.

I end up just staring at the weird carpet instead while trying to tamp down the jealousy I feel when I think about how close Clary and Jordan are. It's stupid.

We talked it over and she doesn't want to be involved with me like that. She wants us to just be friends. And I'm cool with that I think. If it's what she wants, I can make myself be cool with that.

It's just going to be really, really hard.

* * *

"I think you should ask out Jace," Jordan whispers in my ear right before security. I feel my cheeks grow red. I had told myself a few days ago that I would just be friends with him, but maybe that's too dangerous. Maybe I can't even do that. I see Jace turn away in my peripheral vision. I've seen him do everything today in my peripheral vision. Kind of all week really.

I try to make myself stop looking at him, stop smiling at him, stop being so affected by him.

But it's like my mind is always aware of him. I can tell when he's moving and he's thinking hard and I can feel it whenever he stares at me as if his gaze is fire burning into my skin. I am aware of everything about him.

"No," I whisper back to Jordan. "I can't."

"Why?" He asks. I can smell and taste the mint of his gum due to our proximity.

"It just," I begin, but stop once I realize I don't know what I am really trying to say. "It wouldn't work. I barely know him and he barely knows me and he's way out of my league." Jordan scoffs, loudly, completely disrupting our mutual pattern of whispering, and I notice Jace jump in the periphery.

"Oh come on, Clary," Jordan chides.

"What? It's true. I mean, look at him!"

Jordan does glance over and look at Jace. I refrain from looking over at him too because I'm pretty sure that looking at him would be bad for the mini-brick-wall that I've constructed around my heart.

I'm pretty sure that if I let myself look at him that the tiny brick wall would crumble and be reduced to a pile of dust.

So I train my eyes on Jordan's well-kempt eyebrows instead.

"I don't see anything about that boy that you couldn't totally score a million times," Jordan whispers back to me. I pout at him with a look of snark, condescension, and disbelief. It's a look that altogether says '_sure'. _"I don't need that look. I'm telling you, you guys would be great together."

"And I'm telling you no."

"Clary, I've known you for almost twenty years. And I'm telling you that whatever you are doing to quote unquote 'protect yourself' or whatever it is you're trying to accomplish, it's not the right choice. You're making it too hard. Stop overthinking everything so goddamn much. Not everything in life needs to be difficult. I know that's how things have gone for you in the past and habits can be hard to break. But sometimes you just have to let things be easy."

I look over at Jace. Like really look over at him (as in not through my peripheral vision). He's wandered over to one of the "Made in Oregon" gift shops and is looking at a pair of socks with the design of the PDX airport carpet on them.

I do want something to be easy.

"Think on it," Jordan says with finality, this time loud enough that Jace hears. He turns around and we lock eyes.

I look away. I want something to be easy, but I just don't know if this is it. Sometimes easy can be dangerous.

With one last ruffle of my hair, Jordan heads off into the security line.

The walk back to the car is long. I think hard about what Jordan said on the way through the parking garage. I need something in my life to be really easy. And hanging out with Jace is. It's so easy to be around him. And I realize Jordan is right.

Mostly right.

I am going to allow myself something easy. Being around Jace is so easy. That doesn't mean I have to ask him out. It means that a platonic relationship should be just as easy. I will let myself be friends with Jace. That way I can still be around him and hang out with him and listen to his laugh and hear him tell bad jokes.

And maybe if I'm friends with him long enough, this weird aching in my heart will go away.

* * *

Clary has avoided talking to me directly for five days. So when she strikes up conversation in her little Volvo on the way home from the airport, it is a pleasant surprise. It's easy, amiable conversation. Not distant and far away like I was expecting, but not quite as personal as it was last week. It's like she's testing the waters.

And I like it.

Anything to hear her voice.

I've missed her. I didn't really realize how much I liked her until she stopped talking to me. Of course, she still seems to be silently reaffirming her statement that she just wants to be friends. But as long as she is still around like this, I think I can deal with just liking her from a distance.

I can be her friend if that's what she needs.

* * *

_1 week as "just friends":_ This isn't so bad. I mean, my heart hurts all the time and I feel like dying sometimes but otherwise this whole "just friends" thing is going swimmingly. I can pretend a little while longer. I can continue to pretend. I just need to stop looking at her so goddamn much. It's not helping.

* * *

_2 weeks as "just friends":_ God she's so beautiful, and her laugh is like the best sound I've ever heard. Every time she looks at me it's like my heart melts. And then I remember she doesn't like me like I like her and then it's like my heart freezes over. But, like a carton of ice cream left out in the car a little too long, when it refreezes it is a little bumpy and misshapen.

Slowly, Clary and her beaming smile and her strawberry hair and her forest-green eyes are ruining my heart.

* * *

_5 weeks as "just friends":_ My resolve is slipping. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Five motonous weeks of wanting constantly to feel her hair in my fingers, taste the salt of her skin, wake up in the mornings to the sound of her laughter, I just can't take it. We go grocery shopping, we talk for all hours on the phone while she's at work and once, when her boss catches her using her phone while on company time, she tells her boss that it's her boyfriend on the phone and that her boyfriend's just witnessed a car accident and is badly shaken up. It's a terrible lie, for a small bit of investigating could reveal that a) Clary does not have a boyfriend and that b) there are no major car accidents in the area. But of course, Clary doesn't think of those things. And I don't tell her because a part of me hopes that the next time she's caught on her phone she'll call me her boyfriend again.

Summer is coming and with its arrival the rain slowly begins to disappear. The heatwave that sweeps in knocks everyone on their ass. The temperature climbs to 110 on the weekend that the city public schools all let out. People flock to the river and the waterfront and park sprinklers run more frequently and children and teens walk everywhere with their brightly colored swim suits poorly concealed beneath their flowy summer clothing.

Clary and I elect to stay inside to marathon the High School Musical movies.  
She's right. The second one is better.

I pretend not to notice when Clary's leg sweeps against my own. I tell myself not to get my hopes up again, not to let myself believe there's a chance that she's changed her mind.

Because when she pretends not to notice it too, it hurts that much more.

* * *

_9 weeks as "just friends":_ This is like hell.

I can't be around her anymore without constantly thinking about the strawberry smell of her hair and the vanilla almond scent of her skin and the softness of her lips on mine and _Jesus Christ _I'm slipping.

She continues to have me over and we go to the mall and we go to the movies and one day, when the weather was warmer we even went out and rented paddle boards and headed out on the river together. And when she knocked me into the water with her paddle and I reached up and pulled her in with me, she laughed in surprise at the cold blanket of the water and when she splashed me she laughed even harder.

And the water had never looked as beautiful as it did when her freckles were reflected in it.

I'm doing my best, I really am. But this is fucking miserable.

So when the power goes out and she calls me over to "protect her from Dracula's feeding" and I remind her on the phone that he only feeds on virginal girls and she scoffs in mock hurt and hangs up on me but calls back grudgingly to double check that I'm coming, and we're sitting on her couch and the light from the tea candles is swimming across her freckled skin like moonlight across the stars, I can't stop myself from reaching up and dancing my fingerpads across her cheekbones. She exhales shakily but she doesn't stop me.

I trace my fingers over the curve of her cheeks and down the slope of her nose and around to the corner of her mouth and her eyes flutter closed. I trace the bow of her lips and then cup both my hands around her cheeks. I can feel her pulse in my pinky and it's hard and fast.

_Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it,_ a part of me says. The rest of me is screaming to just fucking kiss her already. To breathe in the bubble of air under this hazy, drowning surface. To relive that moment from nine weeks ago.

I lower my face down to hers and just before our lips meet again, she whispers, "Stop."

I let out a large _whoosh_ing breath and let my forehead rest against hers. Our lips are inches apart.

"I really really can't. I'm doing this to protect myself."

But that doesn't make it any easier.

* * *

"Jon, what do I do?"

"About what?" Jon asks over the phone. He sounds slightly panicked, maybe because I skipped the pleasantries, maybe because I do too. Probably both.

"About Jace. It's like every time I see him my heart hurts. I can't do this."

"Sounds like maybe you should just ask him out."

"Jonathan Christopher are you crazy? I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not like that. When I'm not with him, it's like I'm not even me. It's like everything reminds me of him. I see his face everywhere when he's not there. Sometimes I call him pretending to have a question or asking for directions or advice but really it's just because I want to hear his voice. How am I supposed to ask him out? If it ever went wrong my life would turn to actual shit."

"Clary, it sounds like you love him."

I hang up.

He calls back twice but I don't answer. That's not the conversation I was looking for. How dare he answer me with that? I just need someone to tell me I'm being crazy and I need to calm down.

Because it doesn't sound genuine when I say it to myself anymore.

What if I ask him out and I screw it up? What if he hurts me somehow down the road? What if I hurt him? How can I know that this is going to turn out okay?

I can't.

Which means I can't do it.

Right?

* * *

"Isabelle, I'm telling you, I've never felt like this about anyone. Fucking ever."

"Well, tell her that," Isabelle says after taking a long sip of her milkshake. She grabs a chili cheese fry from the shared basket and throws it in her mouth.

"I can't. She just wants to be friends, I've told you that. She said she needs to protect herself." I watch Isabelle chew. She looks like she's thinking. "Do you think she needs to be protected from me?"

"No, I don't. But I know what she's worried about I think. And if I'm right about it then she likes you too."

I groan. "Well how am I supposed to know?"

"I'll ask Simon to talk to her about it."

I feel guilty then as I grab a fry, because I had actually forgotten they were still dating. I figured that Isabelle would have dropped him by now.

"How is Simon?" I ask her.

She smiles. "He's good. We're good." Her use of 'we' reminds me that they've been dating for over three months now. God, it's been almost four months since that party. "His band actually just scored a show for a few weeks from now. They're really excited about it."

"Are they any good?" I ask her.

"Kind of. Their lead singer needs work. And he's kind of an ass. But he's been there too long for them to cut him I think."

"What instrument does Simon play again?"

"He's the bassist. He's really good at it. And he's finally agreed to let me shop for him. Their upcoming gig is like, the real deal. And so he has to look good." She takes another long sip of her milkshake until we both hear the hollow clicking sound of her straw sucking up air instead of shake. She looks down at her watch. "Actually I should probably head out now. I'm supposed to meet him up on Burnside."

I grab the last few fries and throw them in my mouth before pulling out my wallet and throwing down a twenty on the table.

"Thanks for buying," Isabelle says.

"No problem. I'll walk out with you."

I watch our shoes moving in tandem against the tiled floor. My converse shuffling along with her sleek-looking desert boots.

"Hey, Jace," Isabelle says when we step out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. It's sunny and clear and warm, but not oppressively so. "I'll talk to Simon about Clary. Don't worry about it. Whatever happens, whatever she says, it's going to be okay. She's not the only girl in the world, don't forget that."

"I know," I tell her. _Sometimes it feels like that though_, I don't bother saying. I think, based on the look she gives me, that she heard it in my voice anyway. We part ways and I'm left with only my thoughts.

I put my earbuds in and turn on some music to try to chase away my thoughts, but all the songs just end up reminding me of her like some cliché movie.

Not even the wind in my face on my bike ride is enough to get her out of my head.

After being distracted by thinking I see her face in the crowds on the sidewalk, I have to swerve my bike out of the way to avoid being hit by a car I hadn't seen coming. The girl didn't even really look like her. She had brown hair and blue eyes.

I shake my head and focus back on the road. I've got to get it together.

* * *

**So yeah, a little painful. Those kids really just gotta get their heads in the game (i hate myself).**

**ALSO while I was writing this AN I had We're So Starving by P!atD stuck in my head and yeah it was weird.**

**Hope you liked it, please leave a review. Next chapter will be up soon.**

**Kate**


	20. Flour Fight

**Okay I want to start off by saying thanks to you guys for coming back and reading! This was originally going to be two chapters, but the cutoff points were a little awkward so I just combined them into one long one.**

**Also I told some of you this was coming out this weeked but I got impatient so here ya go. **

**_Some things I really want to be heard: _I get that I was gone for a really long time, and I get that it's angsty and I get that some of you just want them to KISS ALREADY, I get all of that. But some of the things you guys were saying to me was really super rude. And really hurtful. And I don't want to sound mean because that's not at all where I'm coming from with this, but for real, telling me you wish one of my characters would just die because they're boring? That's really shitty and unnecessary and it really hurt my feelings. .ANd I know that she's a fictional character, but she's a fictional character that I've sent hours upon hours upon hours building and crafting and developing into what she is right now, and to dismiss all of that because you think I'm not progressing the love story fast enough? it's a bummer. I'm always so excited to deliver this content to you guys because it's an extension of me. And getting comments like that is really discouraging. If you're feeling dissatisfied, let me know in a more constructive way next time please. And I know you said not to take it personally, but that's the kind of thing that can only be taken personally. I'm a real person and that was not the email I wanted to wake up to. **

**Okay sorry about all that. Here's the chapter. **

* * *

"Hey Simon!" I say when I see him outside of the thrift store. He is leaning back against one of the walls outside and he smiles brightly at me when he sees me.

His eyes light up behind his glasses and he pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead. "Hey Izzy," he says to me. "You look nice."

"Thanks," I say with a smile, though I'm not exactly wearing anything special. I mean, it's enough to keep my indie cred on Burnside, but it's not like it's anything I haven't worn before.

Taking my hand, he leads the two of us inside the store. It's my favorite place to go thrift shopping in the whole city; it's half a block of the best thrift clothes one could find. Neon windbreakers, sequined shirts, and velvet pants wink at us from the plethora of aisles.

A skinny man with styled silver hair and purple lipstick welcomes us inside.

I lead Simon over to the men's section and we start scanning the aisles. He holds up a few band shirts that he says he "can't pass up" and then grabs a metallic silver button down. It's got a sheen to it that looks a little purple-y in the light and we throw it in the provided IKEA bag with the other finds.

I find a short-sleeved button down decorated with small black elephant silhouettes and toss it over the aisle into Simon's open hand.

"Nice," he says enthusiastically when he pulls the shirt down to look at it.

He finds a graphic tee that has a picture of Scooby Doo and Shaggy surfing together with the word "Shreddin'!" written on it in groovy orange letters.

I toss him a pair of aqua blue skinny jeans I find that have little orange fish swimming around on them.

After another twenty minutes of finding him the coolest clothes ever we head over to the other side of the store into the women's section. Simon and I walk around picking up pretty much every velvet piece we can find. I grab some leather leggings and a couple pairs of "mom-jeans" that I see and Simon passes me a couple sling dresses. There's a pair of high waisted checkered suit pants that I grab as a joke at first, but after looking them over for a minute I decide they could actually look pretty cute.

Simon holds up probably the ugliest dress I think I've ever seen. It's a burnt orange color and covered in tulle. The bustier top is constructed entirely of mismatching buttons. Just like random fucking buttons all stitched together like chain mail.

"That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen. That wouldn't look good on anyone," I tell him.

"It would probably still look good on you. Everything looks beautiful on you," he says and it's cheesy and predictable. I lean up and give Simon a quick kiss. "You taste like chocolate," he says with scrunched eyebrows.

"Milkshake," I tell him. And then I remember my conversation with Jace. "Hey, have you talked to Clary recently?"

"We made pancakes this morning actually, yeah. Why?" He asks.

"It's just—" I don't know how much Jace wants me to disclose, "—has she talked about Jace lately?"

Simon groans. "Only _all the fucking time_. He's practically all she talks about anymore."

"Good! She is all Jace can talk about too. They're both crazy about each other I think, but Clary is afraid of the commitment and Jace is afraid Clary doesn't actually like him. So he's spinning."

"Oh they're _both_ spinning, trust me. She has been trying to channel whatever emotion she's feeling right now into some art, but none of it is turning out very good which is just making her more anxious." Simon takes my hand again and leads us over to the dressing room area near the back. He starts to pull his clothes out of the bag and then hands the bag to me. We head off to adjacent dressing rooms.

"I've never seen Jace like this before," I tell him, yelling slightly so as to be heard over the curtain wall separating the rooms. "I'm pretty sure he loves her. He just doesn't know it yet because he's terrible at articulating his feelings. He always has been."

"I was texting Clary's brother earlier," Simon replies, "we both think the same thing. About her, I mean. Clary's had some serious shit go down in the past. And I think the idea of handing her heart to someone else really freaks her out."

"Yeah but, I know Jace. We both know Jace. He would be nothing if not careful with her heart. I really truly think he's in love with her," I tell him as I shimmy into the blue bodycon dress with the sewn in white sparkles. It's that kind of fabric that on sight you know is going to be itchy but then miraculously is not. The sparkles aren't overpowering and he way they're spaced out make the dress look like it's been cut directly out of the night sky. Basically I look killer. And I know I have shoes that would go well with it.

I throw it back on the hanger and set the hanger on my mentally designated "yes" peg.

"I don't doubt it, honestly. I've seen them together before, they're on the same page. By the way, the fish pants are totally a go."

"Perfect," I tell him.

"What about you?" He asks.

"So far, everything but those oatmeal pants have been good," I reply. "I'm asking about Clary because I told Jace I would. I was hoping you could talk to Clary somehow and convince her to open up a little bit. I would do it myself, take her for a pedicure or something, but I feel like it would be too obvious, you know?"

"Yeah, I'll do it. Here, try on the Scooby Doo shirt. I think we should share it," Simon says, and I see his hand reaching over the curtain wall with the grey t-shirt in his hand.

"You know," I say, grabbing the shirt from his hand, "most couples just get a puppy or something." I slide the shirt over my head. Sure enough, it fits like a short dress. And I look bomb as hell.

"Baby steps," Simon says. "Plus, I'm more of a cat person myself."

* * *

I really need to go inside. I've been sitting with my head against the steering wheel of my car for too long. People will think I'm weird. Or that I've died or something.

It's just, if I go inside I have to pass right by his door. And every time I pass by his door I almost do something stupid like throw open his door and kiss him or burst into tears.

And I can't risk doing either of those things so I just sit here, with my forehead resting against the steering wheel.

I sit and imagine for a moment that maybe another car would swerve too fast into the parking lot and hit mine and, in my vulnerable position here in front of the airbag, I would be put in a coma.

The airbag would deploy right on my soft and beautiful face and the 200 MPH speed of the inflatable would break all the bones in my face. And my brain would sustain an injury and I would fall into a strange sleep. There would be no hope for a natural recovery. The news outlets would call it tragic, they would display probably a terrible picture of me, but call me a lost young beauty anyways.

My paintings and sketches would be discovered finally in the whirlwind of my demise and be auctioned off for billions of dollars. And though the doctors would tell my family there was no hope, behind closed doors they'd be working with the government and sending me through experimental procedures until I woke again with superhuman abilities.

I don't know what they'd be but they'd be cool. Like flying abilities and mind reading or something.

The damage to my brain in the end would be too great, and so I would forget about my life before. But it wouldn't matter because I'd be a superhero.

And I'd never have to face Jace and pretend everything was okay ever again.

Doesn't sound too bad.

I remain against the steering wheel for a long time.

"Clary, get out of your car. You look dead," Simon's voice surprises me.

"I am dead. Let the dead rest, and all that. Go away," I reply without moving from the steering wheel.

I look to the side to see his arm snake through my partially open window and unlock the doors. Then he walks around and climbs into the passenger seat. He sighs deeply.

"Look, Clary. Look at yourself. You're miserable. Why are you doing this to yourself?" He asks.

I feel my throat tighten. "Because," I say, my voice sounding watery, "I know this feeling is better than how I'll feel if someone hurts me again. I can't bear being hurt by someone again. Not someone who's supposed to love me."

"Clary," Simon says, and his voice is full of pity, but also caring and true concern, "you know Jace would never do that. Jace would never treat you the way he did." He doesn't need to say his name, we both know who we're referring to.

I sigh. "I know that Simon. It's not the physical stuff, it's that one day," my throat gets stuck, "my dad just seemed to stop loving us all. And I don't even know what day it was because I was blinded by my love for him." I lift my head off the wheel and look at Simon. "If Jace ever decided one day that he doesn't like me anymore, I don't know what I would do." I wipe my hand across my cheek, sweeping away the tear that managed to escape.

"Well, Clary," Simon pauses to wipe a hand across his face, "I don't think there's a way for anyone to protect you from that or to guarantee that it won't happen."

I groan and throw my head back against the headrest. "So now you see why I can't let myself have this." I say, waving my hand in the general direction of Jace's apartment.

"No, Clary. That's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is no one knows walking into a relationship that they're not going to get hurt. There's absolutely no way to tell. But you have to just do it anyway. That's a part of living: going after things, experiencing things, even if in the end they might hurt you."

I close my eyes to let his words wash over me.

Simon opens his door with a soft click. "I know I can't guarantee anything but I don't think," Simon pauses, "I don't think Jace would ever hurt you." And he stands and leaves. I put my forehead back against the steering wheel.

* * *

Even though a part of me doesn't want to (because every time I see her face my heart seems to hurt a little bit more) I call Clary. She answers on the second ring.

"Hey Buttface," she says.

"Hi, Loser. I'm having Simon and Isabelle over for dinner tonight and was wondering if you wanted to come too. I'm making chicken tacos."

"Okay, we've got to get some things out in the open before the rest of this conversation can continue. First, Simon's a vegetarian. Second, I've had your chicken tacos. They're terrible."

"I think that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I say with a laugh. She laughs too. It makes me feel very warm. And then it makes me feel fairly sad.

"But yeah, I'd love to come over. I was going to head to the grocery store in a little bit, and now that you need a new meal, do you wanna come with?" she asks.

"That would be great. I'll meet you down in the parking lot in a few then, I guess."

"Mmkay," she hums. "Bye, Fartmonster."

"See ya, Buttmunch."

When she hangs up, I throw the phone down on the couch (with the appropriate heart lurch when it bounces twice instead of just landing. It ends up landing again on the couch cushion anyway, safe from harm.) and head down to my room. I feel self conscious about my clothes now that I know I'll be hanging out with Clary, so I pull the plain t-shirt and sweatpants off and opt for my favorite black jeans and a t-shirt designed to look like a sheet of lined notebook paper. I grab my old denim jacket as well and run a comb up through my hair.

When I reach the parking lot, she's already sitting in the driver's seat of her small old Volvo sedan. It's white with black detailing and looks like it's from the late 70's. It somehow fits her very well.

Her expression is pained as she looks down at the steering wheel. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her chin is waffled from the deep onset of her frown. She's biting her lip so hard it looks painful. She is the epitome of hurt and uncertain. Until she looks up at me and plasters on a smile that looks too carefree to be real. The pain is still sitting there behind her eyes.

I open the door.

"I forgot how much of a total slowpoke you are," she says teasingly.

"And I forgot how tiny and short you are," I throw back just as teasingly.

Her sly smile disappears and she gives me the finger.

"And we're even," I say with a laugh.

Conversation is light and playful and easy and friendly. We make very good friends.

But I don't want to just be friends. I feel like I'm drowning. Every time she smiles at me another few drops of water are poured into this tank of friendship that's slowly filling, teasing me all the way to the point of suffocation.

But I don't tell her that.

In the end we decide to make pizzas. Clary says she knows how to make the dough from scratch and I grab a few cans of tomatoes to make a fresh sauce. The woman at the cheese counter sends us on our way with what is probably way too much cheese. We go crazy grabbing all kinds of toppings. We grab pretty much every meat that anyone could think of putting on a pizza and then run to produce and grab a ton of veggies.

Clary grabs two six-packs of root beers and I grab some vanilla ice cream.

I grab some shitty beers, Clary grabs some popcorn. Clary thinks it will be funny to buy those cone-shaped party hats so we go to, until we arriv ein the aisle and they're out. Clary complains that this is the worst thing that's ever happened to her, truly a failure on the part of humanity, an utter travesty.

After another heated debate at the cash register, we decide to split the groceries 50/50. At least I let Clary think that's what we decide. I end up picking it up when Clary turns around for a moment.

She doesn't speak to me for much of the drive home until she says she can't help herself anymore.

It's such a domestic moment between the two of us, I can almost pretend that we're together.

It's wonderful.

Until I remember we're not a couple.

Then it's not.

* * *

I touch up my eyeliner and head over to Jace's at 5:30, not bothering with shoes. I stand outside his door for at least a full minute, mentally preparing myself for the night.

_Don't lose your cool,_ I tell myself. _Don't do anything rash or stupid. He's your friend. He's your friend. He's your friend. You don't want to kiss him 24/7. You don't want to curl up in his arms. You want to be his friend. _

Friendship is safe. Friendship can't hurt.

_Then why does this seem to hurt so much?_

Taking a moment to reset my thoughts, I exhale and open his door. The inside is bright and warm and I can see Jace's back through the small window set into the kitchen divider wall.

"Honey, I'm home!" I call as I step inside. I meant it as a joke but it strikes a strange chord within me that seems to suck all the warmth out of the room.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

Jace freezes in place and then turns around slowly with an uncertain smile on his face as well.

"Uh, hey," he says. "Ready to make some pizzas?" When he smiles the warmth is replaced and it's like the world that had previously stopped continues to spin.

"Abso-toot-ly I am," I say.

Jace tosses me an apron from one of the drawers as I approach the kitchen. I scrunch up the sleeves of my dress and put the apron on. It's red, and looks kind of awful against my loose oatmeal colored dress and my orange-y hair. I feel like a teenager working in an Italian restaurant.

I grab my phone and plug it into Jace's stereo system. Pulling up Spotify, I put on the playlist titled "Clary and Jace's kickass tunes."

I head back over to the kitchen counter and grab the bowl of dough that I made earlier. It's risen to what will probably be its full capacity.

"Where are the cutting boards?" I ask Jace. "I should flour these up and divide them for everybody."

"Oh," Jace says and reaches down to the cupboard next to the fridge. He pulls out a large cutting board and passes it up to me. "Here."

I thank him and set the cutting board onto the counter. I cover the whole board in a healthy dose of flour and then plop the big wad of pizza dough on top. A small cloud of flour flies out under it from the impact.

"Hey!" Jace shouts, swatting at the cloud of flour in the air. "You got some on my shirt."

"Your shirt is white, you big baby."

The song begins to end and the long, concluding guitar streams fade into the heavy synthy guitar of a new, upbeat song. The song is inviting and infectious and I feel my chest begin to thump to the beat of it. When they vocals start, I begin to full on dance, smiling like a dork.

I cut the large ball of dough into eight smaller balls. I put seven of them back in the bowl, each wrapped in Saran Wrap. I pick up and drop back down the ball of dough, this time going out of my way to send more flour in the air.

"Alright, that's it," Jace says. He reaches into the bag of flour on the counter and covers his fingers in it. He flicks his hand out at me and flour shoots through the air onto my face.

I laugh in surprise and throw some flour back at him.

_They're just pictures trapped inside of your head, save a little grace for, save a little grace for, save a little, save a little, _the song sings through the flour-saturated air.

We continue to hurl small handfuls of flour at each other and laugh. I coat my hand in it and wipe my hand down his face. Every time I breathe in, it's with a mouthful of flour.

It's on my eyelashes, in my hair, on my clothes, covering Jace, and all over the kitchen.

"Missed me!" I shout when a flour stream shoots over my shoulder.

"Oh yeah?" Jace calls. He reaches out, circles an arm around my waist, and pulls me up into him. He fills his whole hand with flour and has a massive grin on his face.

I try to pull away, smiling and squirming, and knowing whatever he's about to do is bad.

He lifts up the full handful of flour and dumps it directly on my face. "No!" I shout as it rains down, which only serves in getting flour inside my mouth. Jace laughs loudly.

I blow the dry flour out of my mouth and blow some of the clouds of it in the direction of Jace's face.

Which is very close to mine.

In fact, his hand is still snaked around my waist and my body is still flush against his and with his free hand he is starting to wipe away some of the flour from my cheeks and eyes and lips in a very not-just-friends way. His amber eyes are looking right at my lips and all I can think of is the last time we kissed, and it was on that couch only a few feet from here back when the spring rain left the light looking white and his hair had been disheveled from sleep and we had pancakes on our breath and so much was different. So much was different then.

But not his eyes.

"Can I kiss you now?" Jace whispers. And his breath sends a new flurry of flour into the small space between our faces.

"I— I think—um—" and I am saved from having to come up with an actual answer by the doorbell ringing. Jace lets go of me very, _very_ slowly, like he doesn't really want to, and heads to the door.

I take half a breath to reset my thoughts. I check the clock, it reads past 6:00 already, meaning the door must be Simon and Isabelle.

I smooth my flour-covered hair and head to the door as well.

"Hi," Simon and Isabelle call in unison. Their hands are intertwined and Simon lets go to allow Isabelle to enter the house before he follows her.

"Hey," Jace and I reply, also in unison. And I suddenly feel very strange here in Jace's apartment, helping him welcome guests into his home. Cooking dinner with him for another couple, working in tandem, being a hostess here in this home that isn't mine. This feels too much like a double date for a moment and my stomach goes fluttery and I can't tell if it's elation or dread.

"You okay, Clary?" Simon asks, giving me a funny look.

"Yeah, fine," I say, but even I can hear how breathless I am. Everyone's looks match Simon's original one. It's a cross between concern and confusion. I clear my throat and repeat, "Really, I'm fine."

"You're covered in flour," Simon says.

"Oh yeah, Jace and I got into a flour fight in the kitchen while we were rolling out dough." _And my resolve almost crumbled and I almost kissed him and that's dangerous, _I leave out.

"That's cute," Isabelle says.

"Well, there are drinks in the fridge and pizza dough ready to be rolled out on the counter. We were thinking make-your-own pizzas. So, make yourselves at home," Jace says and heads off to the kitchen to pull cheeses out of the fridge. Simon follows him.

"How have you been, Clary?" Isabelle asks, starting the small talk.

"I've been pretty good! My hours got switched and cut back a bit over at Powell's so I've been working a more normal schedule. I'm still glad it's finally Saturday, though. What about you? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"I know, the last time we hung out was, when? A couple weeks ago?" Isabelle asks. I nod with a hum. That was a fun day. We got some salad wraps at this killer food cart around the corner then went around shopping at various boutiques and consignment shops around the neighborhood. "Work's been busy. Now that it's Summer, people have more time to go shopping, I guess. I had to up the inventory on almost all the items because a few them even sold out." One of the boutiques we went into, _Seelie Queen,_ actually belonged to Izzy. I, of course, had no idea it was hers, so I said something offensive about one of the shirts. But it was in fact one of my favorite shops in the city, I just wasn't ever brave enough to wear the clothes from there. They were fairly tight, short, and revealing, but sleek and fashionable nonetheless. "Of course, I can't complain; more business means more money, but like you said, I'm glad it's Saturday."

Simon then calls over Izzy to tell some outrageous story about the two of them to Jace. I half-listen, because I'm fairly certain I've heard this story before, or some kind of version of it.

While half-listening, I reach into the fridge and grab a bottle of root beer, not quite trusting my heart to protect itself if I grabbed an actual beer.

When Izzy and Simon finish their story, Jace decides it's probably time to get the pizza train rolling. Izzy makes hers first, rolling out the dough I had set on the cutting board before the flour fight. She topped hers with ham and pineapple and Jace threw it on the pizza stone in the oven.

Simon went next. His pizza was boring and covered in vegetables. We all made fun of him for it.

I made the next pizza, and mine had bacon and brussel sprouts on it. Then Jace made one that was chicken and artichoke hearts.

Once all the pizzas were done, Jace and I took the remaining dough and made two cheese and two pepperoni pizzas for extras.

We sat around the table and ate pizza and root beer floats and popcorn and talked about things that didn't matter and were stupidly funny for absolutely no notable reason. At one point, Simon made Izzy laugh so hard that root beer came out of her nose.

Jace and I shared our pizzas, each offering the other a slice. Jace's pizza tasted better than I had been expecting, and he called my pizza a "culinary genius."

I totally let it go to my head.

After we were too full to continue eating, we retired to the couches, propping feet on tables and in each other's laps. Mine and Isabelle's heads both rested in Simon's lap, and my legs were slung over Jace's, while Izzy's were slung over the arm of the couch.

"So we fired our singer today," Simon says once we had lain in silence for a few minutes.

"Really?" I ask, turning up to look at him.

"Yeah, he was a dick. And not a very good singer either."

"But don't you guys have a big gig in like, exactly two weeks?" I ask, worried for him.

"Yeah, so we're holding auditions starting tomorrow for a new singer. It's not too big a deal, we're not performing any of our original music. The gig is called "Local Hearts, National Charts," so we're only really allowed to play covers anyway."

"I hope auditions go well," I tell Simon.

"Me too," Simon replies. "This is the biggest gig we've had so far, I don't know if we can afford to miss it."

We end up putting on The Princess Bride and making the remainder of the popcorn. Once we had laughed our asses off and eaten too much popcorn, Izzy and Simon announced it was time for them to go. Izzy made plans for more shopping with me, Simon made plans to go to the record store with Jace ("Jace, you should totally take advantage of my friend's employee discount, man."), Izzy made plans with Jace to go have dinner at their mom's, and I made plans with Simon to go bowling. I stay after they've left only to clean up. When the kitchen and dining room are tidy, I leave as politely as I think I can, really not wanting to stay any longer.

I almost slipped up once already, I didn't really trust myself anymore tonight.

"Goodnight, Jace," I say before I leave. "And thanks. I had a ton of fun."

"I did too, Clary. I'll see you tomorrow I guess?" I nod and slip out.

And just like always, when I tuck myself into bed a little while later, my swirling and swimming thoughts are interrupted by two short little knocks.

And just like always, I knock back.

* * *

**OKAY WOW THEY'RE DORKS RIGHT? SUCH GODDAMN DORKS BUT MAN DO I LOVE EM.**

**The song that appeared during the flour fight is called _Little Grace_ by Hippo Campus. They're like my new fave band tbh (they have been like all summer) and I just got to SEE THEM LIVE THIS WEEK AND MEET THEM AND HUG THEM AND HOLD THEIR HANDS AND THE SINGER TOLD ME HE LOVED ME TOO AND WOW (look them up they're amazing and not to mention cute af like 11/10)**

**I hope this sort of cleared things up for some of you who were like, confused about Clary's emotional state and her reasoning and everything. ALso, Sizzy? I've never written Sizzy before so that was fun. **

**Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!**

**Kate**


	21. From Day Out to Try-Out

**Wowie I have the resolution chapter all written now and sitting in my doc manager and :') It's so good omg**

**also, 300 REVIEWS! WOWIE**

**i just finished the PSAT (for the second time (for national merit)) and i'm like 95% sure i totally aced it so that's cool**

* * *

"So how have auditions been going?" I ask Simon at the music store. It's huge, two stories, with everything from band merch and posters to CDS to cassette tapes to vinyl records. I love it here.

He groans loudly. For a long time. I pick up a CD that I think Clary would like and show it to her across the aisle. She smiles widely.

"It's been terrible. Some of these people can't even sing. Some of them are decent, but their personalities just end up obliterating any chances they might have had." He pauses to wipe a hand down his face. "I'm basically spending hours of my free time listening to cats die."

"That doesn't sound very pleasant at all," I say with a frown.

"Yeah, it's not," Simon replies.

"When is the show again?" Clary asks.

"8 days. 8 days, and we don't even have a singer," Simon says sounding defeated.

"Are you talking about the band?" a voice asks from the back. A guy comes around from behind the counter. I vaguely recognize him from Clary's party a few months ago. I think his name is Eric.

"Yeah," Simon says to him. "Jace, this is Eric, drummer for The Mortal Instruments and reason we are at this music store," Simon says to me.

I extend my hand to Eric and he shakes it. "We're fucking doomed," Eric says. "If you happen to know any singers that aren't complete shit, send them our way."

"Well, Jace can sing," Clary says from behind me. I whip around to glare at her, jaw hanging open in shock. When I turn back all the other eyes are on me. "I know for a fact, I heard him sing once. He was great."

"I was not great. I was passably average. Certainly not good enough to perform for Simon's band."

"Well let's hear it," Simon says. I can't believe this. Clary is out to ruin my life.

"_Now?"_ I ask, incredulous.

"No, of course not now," Eric says. "The rest of the band isn't here."

"Of course, their opinions don't really actually matter, we just let them think they do," Simon adds. "Eric, can you text the rest of the guys? What time do you get off?" Eric tells us that he gets off at 3. "Can you have the other guys meet us at my place at 3:30?" Eric nods.

"Well Jace, looks like you've got yourself an audition," Clary says. I stick my tongue out at her.

"You're the worst," I tell her.

"I know," she says, "ruining people's lives is my specialty."

* * *

"Alright, Jace, let's start with the basics," Simon says from his spot on one of the beat-up couches in his garage. There are three of them, each made of pleather, each worn soft and hole-y from use. They form a sort of semicircle facing the room and I stand in the center of them. It is all very intimidating, and seems purposefully so. "Can you sing a scale? Eric give him a C."

Eric plays a note on the keyboard. I sing from _do_ to _do_ and back again. I watch as Simon's eyebrows raise and he nods as I sing the scale. The universal gesture for _not bad. _

"Okay, can you sing 'Happy Birthday' for us?" Eric plays another note. I breathe in slowly, the musty smell of garage and shag carpeting suffocating me. It's the kind of smell that makes your skin hot and your tongue itchy and is just generally unsettling.

I sing _Happy Birthday_, celebrating Clary as the fake birthday girl at the end and giving her the best death glare I can muster. She smiles back cheekily from her crisscross applesauce spot on the leftmost pleather couch.

One of the other band members (Kirk, I think?) claps at the end.

Simon narrows his eyes. He stands up from his spot on the couch and motions for the others to follow him. They all walk over to their instruments. "Jace, I'm going to have you head over to that microphone over there, please," Simon says. He's been treating me like a stranger since I walked in, probably trying to dispel any bias in his decision-making since we're friends.

I stand in front of the microphone. Behind me is everyone else on their instrument and Clary on the pleather couch. In front of me is only a music stand and the cold metal of the closed garage doors. The guys begin to tune up their instruments.

"Alright Jace, take your pick of any of the songs on the music stand," Eric says. I shuffle through the music that's sitting on the stand. My stomach feels heavy down in my feet.

Before I reach the end of the stack, Simon interrupts, "Actually Jace, I think we're just going to start with Sweater Weather. You're familiar with it, right?" I turn around and nod. It was only on every radio station in the country for a few months straight. "Okay great. You'll get a full count of 8 and then come in on the upbeat of 6. It'll sound kind of like this." Simon nods to Eric who plays the drum intro. Simon points to me at the upbeat of 6. "Sound good?" I nod. "Alright, let's do it for real time."

My stomach continues to tighten through the entire drum intro, and then I sing, "_All I am is a man, I want the world in my hands. I hate the beach, but I stand in California with my toes in the sand_."

After the first few terrifying words, it's like I forget that I'm supposed to be nervous. It just comes out naturally. And then I'm singing easily and freely along with everyone's instruments.

And to be honest, it sounds amazing.

Before the bridge, the instruments cut out and Simon calls, "Okay, that was it for the first song. Jace, what's the next one in the stack?" Clary can be heard clapping excitedly in the back.

I shuffle the papers over and see Arabella by the Arctic Monkeys. Simon runs me through the intro again and then we start for real. "_Arabella's got some interstellar gator skin boots, and a helter skelter 'round her little finger and I ride it endlessly_." I have no idea what the fuck the lyrics mean, but I get to make my voice sound rougher and darker and it's really fun.

When we hit the chorus, it's euphoric. The sound of all the instruments this close and hearing my own voice carry through the speakers is so cool. "_Just might have tapped into your mind and soul_," I sing, "_you can't be sure_."

The instruments whine out right after the bridge this time. I sang the first part of each phrase and the band would sing the second half. The whole experience is truly exhilarating.

We play three more songs. First, Unbelievers by Vampire Weekend; second, it's Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears; and then Shiver, Shiver by Walk the Moon. The latter has me straining a bit because the chorus is really high, but I think I manage okay. By the middle of the song, I'm dancing around the microphone. It's like I'm working on autopilot; I can feel the song moving through every inch of my body and it's like I'm trying to get it out of me any way I can. I'm singing loudly and dancing and sweating and everything I am is in motion. I can just hear Clary singing along behind the roar of the instruments.

At the last riff of the song, I turn around. I'm smiling and sweating and feel like I'm high.

"You're free on Saturday night, right?" Eric calls.

"Yeah," I say, "why?"

"Because you've totally got the job," Simon says with a gaping smile.

* * *

"Nice job, loser. Seems like you've finally done something right," I say to Jace as I ruffle his hair in the car.

"You know," Jace says to me, "compliments tend to be received better when they aren't phrased like an insult. Just a tip." But his goofy smile betrays his words. "Actually, Clary, thank you. I didn't realize how much I would enjoy that." He smiles at me, and without taking my eyes off the road for too long I look at him out of the corner of my eye. I smile too, feeling glow-y and warm.

"So are you like, a permanent member of the band?" I ask, because I missed the official initiatory conversation.

"Nah, I don't think so. It sounds like they just need someone through Saturday night and then they'll audition people again. But I don't know, they might change their minds. We'll see I guess."

Jace pulls one of the CDs out of the glovebox and throws it in the player.

We sit in companionable silence with the music on. I split my time between watching the road and watching Jace try to pretend that he's not unbelievably stoked with himself.

He's not very good at it.

He maintains the same toothy, goofy grin the whole drive home.

* * *

"Okay, Clary, we need to get you an outfit for the concert. So we'll do that after this," I say as I grab a bottle of nail polish off the wall rack. Clary, standing beside me, looks uneasy.

"I have plenty of clothes, Izzy. I'm sure I can find something," she says, fingering a bottle of burgundy polish.

"Clary," I say, looking down my nose at her, "I have been in your place many times, I have gone through your clothes, and we both know that they won't cut it. We have to make you look hot. Like seriously hot. It's marketing." She looks at me funny, like she's not so sure. Having picked out our polishes, a woman directs us over to two of the massage chairs and begins to fill the tubs at the bottom with water. I decide to break it down for her. "Say you're a lonely 25 year old dude. You're walking down the streets of the city and see a super smoking hot girl in line for a ticket for a concert. You grab one too, thinking that you can pretend to love the band so she'll think you have something in common, you've made a connection, blah blah blah and then she'll blow you later. "

Clary makes a face. I'm instructed by the woman kneeling at my feet to pull them out of the water. She begins to massage them with some kind of lotion. "Okay, well obviously you're not going to blow anyone, but that's what they're hoping for. And so they buy the ticket and then the fanbase steadily grows and then Simon makes more money from his music and buys me more presents. Plus, if you swing it right you can make Jace literally drool over you or get jealous and do something macho. He'll be like putty in your tiny freckled hands."

Clary looks thoughtful then shakes her head with a smile.

"It's really not like that with me and Jace," she says as the two women disappear and come back with white boxes. They pull little buffing blocks out of them and begin to sand down our feet.

"Oh, save it. I've heard the whole diatribe from both of you several times. I know you think you're just friends. I also know that the sexual tension is so fucking thick when you're in a room together that it's too thick to cut with a knife. You need like a laser for that or something." The woman filing my toenails gives me a chiding look. "Pardon my french," I add. I'm only giving Clary this conversation because somehow Simon failed, as evidenced by the red-faced, flour-coated, uncomfortable dopes who met us at the door for dinner the other night.

Clary, flushing red, huffs at me. "That is not true. There's nothing between us."

"Fine, believe what you will, but either way you need to look hot as—" I stop myself from saying the word I planned when the woman at my feet gives me another pointed look, "—fudge. Hot as some really hot fudge."

* * *

With mani-pedis done and tip money dropped, Clary and I head out to her car. She's weirdly adamant about driving places. I don't really mind though. It's hot outside and her car has air conditioning. It's a cute car too.

We head to the district with my favorite boutiques and thrift stores. The first two stores end up being a bust, with Clary trying on like 1000 items and not liking any of them.

But the third one, the same store I came to with Simon a few weeks ago, seems pretty promising.

Within a few minutes Clary has armfuls of clothes and a huge grin on her face. She runs off to the dressing rooms and I sit on the bench right outside the door.

I pull out my phone and scroll through Twitter as I wait for her. She comes out of the dressing room every few items to show me something that is either totally hot or totally horrendous. It's honestly pretty fun trying to guess if the next thing she comes out wearing is going to wow me or throw us both in stitches at how awful it is.

But when she comes out in a mock turtle-neck, bodycon velvet dress, our eyes lock and it's like there's some kind of electric _zing_. Something that says, _this is it. This is the one_. The dress lengthens her torso a bit, making her look willowy but at the same time accentuates her curves. The dark green velvet absorbs all the light around it, looking endless and sleek and complimenting her eyes, hair, and skin. The contrast of the dark fabric and the white skin make her freckles stand out like stars on her skin and her eyes are literally glowing. her normally orange-y hair looks darker and richer and sultrier. And I never thought I would ever find a proper way to use the word sultry. But this is it.

"I think we found it," is all she says, almost in a whisper. I nod wordlessly and we scramble for the checkout. Clary ends up buying all the things she liked, including the dress, and we head on our merry way off to her car.

* * *

**Okay so WAY WAY less angst. A lot more cuteness. Still not a kiss. We're getting there though folks. Like seriously getting there. (Like close close close) holy moly we're so close wow it's gonna be gr8.**

**sorry this one's a little shorter than the last few **

**please leave a review!**

**kate**

**p.s. i forgot that i used to do those review questions but i think i'm going to stop because that's lowkey a lot of work **


	22. Local Hearts National CHarts

**HERE IT IS GUYS HERE IT IS OMG WOW THE BIG RESOLUTION I know it's taken me long enough and I know you guys all got pretty tired of all the waiting and angst, but I think it's worth it because the resolution is quite possibly THE CUTEST THING EVER IMO**

**Ok so the music fest that is mentioned here is totally made up, but all the songs they sing are real! I made a playlist on 8tracks of their concert setlist so if you want to give it a listen, you can find me on 8tracks at _coffeemugged_ or you can search for the playlist directly, it's titled _Local Hearts National Charts_ (the same as this chapter, and the music fest they're performing in). **

* * *

The eight days leading up to the gig are busy. Like really busy. This show could be potentially be big for The Mortal instruments. Like really big. We run rehearsals whenever we can, for as long as we can. I adjust quickly, it's really just a matter of making sure we have it sealed so tight that even if something goes wrong at the show, we can still pull through.

The songs we have picked are all really cool and fit the sound of the band well, for which I'm grateful. And they're all covers, to fit the theme of the gig, for which I'm also grateful.

I don't see much of Clary between work and rehearsals, and suddenly it's the morning of the show. I've only known about it for eight days, not enough to be surprised by the suddenness of the event upon us. But I still wake up with a mixture of dread and excitement already thrumming through my veins. I have never performed in front of an audience before, outside of piano recitals in like fourth grade, back before my life turned to shit and I had to move to Oregon. So this is definitely new territory for me.

I head out to the parking lot, and pass by Clary's door on my way. I consider stopping to say hi before I head out, but I' already running a few minutes late and I'm pretty sure if Simon found out I missed sound check to flirt with Clary he'd kill me ("Go be pitiful on your own time, Wayland," he'd said last week when I took Clary out for ice cream and missed rehearsal). It would be nice to hear her voice, it might help calm me down a bit, seeing as I feel like throwing up, but in my strange, slightly off-kilter state, I might do something stupid such as profess my love for her. And that would be really awkward and uncomfortable.

And then it hits me. The idea of the century. And I am so fucking giddy and nervous and excited about the idea of it, that all I can do is call Simon. He doesn't answer the first time, so I call again immediately. This isn't something that can wait.

"You'd better not be calling in sick, Wayland," he tells me when he answers.

"I need to ask you a favor," is all I say in return. He prompts me to go on.

When I tell him my plan, he responds, "Fucking finally. I thought you'd ever ask."

* * *

I put on the green velvet dress with the mock turtle neck and let Izzy do my makeup. She says it's fun for her, and I don't really feel like doing it myself, so I guess it's a win-win. I watch in the mirror as my eyebrows are filled in, my eyeliner is flicked, and my mascara is curled. She does this intense smokey eye with apparent ease, leaving me totally in awe. If I tried to do that myself I would look like a raccoon.

Izzy brings in a dark burgundy lipstick and at first I'm so nervous that it will look weird with my hair, but the way the green dress makes my hair look darker goes so well with the lipstick that I could practically kiss her. But then that would mess up my makeup of course. Simon scored Izzy and I free tickets into the show (not that I would mind paying, but it being a six-night show with thirteen bands means the tickets are kind of expensive). I go to post a finished product of my makeup and outfit to snapchat and Isabelle swats my phone out of my hand.

"What was that for?!" I ask, retrieving my phone from where it landed on my bed.

"What do you mean, 'what was that for'? I didn't spend all that time on your makeup just so that you could post it for Jace to see before we even get there!" she says, as if my question was a stupid one. I roll my eyes. She rolls hers back. "We went over this at the nail salon. Putty in your freckled hands," she says as a reminder. Isabelle goes through my shoes looking slightly baffled by the selections ("Why do you need _so many_ pairs of Converse?" "Because I like them, that's why!") before she pulls a shoe box out of the back of my closet. I'm appalled that they're even still there, as I thought I had donated or sold them long ago.

It's a pair of shoes that Jon's girlfriend bought me about a year before I moved. I couldn't ever see myself wearing them at the time but I didn't want to seem rude so I thanked her profusely (and hopefully convincingly) and packed them in with the things I took with me when I moved. And that was the last time I saw them before now, having gathered dust around the box from the two years of neglect in the back of my closet. When Izzy pulls them out, I'm actually pleasantly surprised. They're a lot more normal now than they must have been three years ago.

It's a pair of black, chunky platform boots with laces up the front. They look a lot like a pair of Docs, but with a raised platform and less weight.

They are actually really cute.

"Oh my god, why have you not worn these yet?" Isabelle asks.

"To be completely honest, I forgot I even owned these."

We immediately shove them on my feet and it's like the last piece of a large jigsaw puzzle is fitted into its spot. I look sexy as hell.

"Like I said," Izzy says, looking me over once, twice, in the full length mirror, "putty in your freckled hands."

* * *

The nervous energy thrumming through me makes me feel like I'm going to vomit. We're the headliners tonight, meaning we have an opening band. And we get to come back out for the encore and everything. But also meaning that the whole night is leading up to us. And I'll be right there in the front of the stage. Wow ok. Simon invites Izzy and Clary to come hang out backstage with us, but Izzy says they can't; that their appearance has to be some kind of big reveal.

We wait backstage while the opening band performs. It's a group of kids who are right out of high school, and though they are young they definitely show promise. We met them earlier today and hung out for the couple of hours during sound check. They were all cool enough, but that was the extent of my impression of them.

Simon's preshow ritual involves drinking Yoohoo chocolate milk and playing leapfrog. Not necessarily in that order, he said. We commence with the leap frog which is unsurprisingly much more difficult as an adult than when I was in first grade. We're all laughing and cheering and being general dorks before it is announced to us that the opening band is off the stage and that our gear is being set up. And just like that, the nervousness returns. I'm biting my nails, keeping near a sink due to the fact that I think I might vomit. Eric claps me on the back and tells me I'll be fine, but it doesn't quell the nervousness in my stomach.

"Three minutes," the lights guy calls to us from the door to the hallway to the stage. It seems like our time ran out impossibly fast.

"Huddle up," Simon calls to the four of us in the room. We huddle. I feel like I'm back on my high school soccer team. "Repeat after me," Simon says to our closely gathered heads. "I, state your name," he prompts. There is a jumbled response of names. "Am going to go on stage tonight," we repeat once again. "and I am going to kick some serious ass." We repeat, this time with renewed vigor.

"No amount of nerves or technical difficulties or emotional breakdowns are going to get in my way or in the way of the band," he prompts again. This time the repeat drags a bit somewhere just past the middle of the phrase, as we had all forgotten what we were supposed to say before we remembered the rest of the long sentence.

Simon looks to me. This is now my moment, as honorary lead singer and band front-runner.

I look around the circle of my new friends and band mates. I take a deep breath and feel the coiling in my veins begin to relax. "What team?" I ask. There's a pause before they seem to catch on, and I'm nervous for a moment that I just totally embarrassed myself. But then—

"Wildcats!" they all respond in earnest.

"What team?"

"Wildcats!"

"What team?!"

"_Wildcats!_"

"Wildcats!" I call, one last time.

"_Get'cha head in the game!_" They respond as the huddle breaks. We move towards the door, grins on our faces and excitement in our hearts.

Simon is the first to run onto the stage. The cheers that I can hear as I start to move on too are almost deafening. Even with my earplugs and headset. The lights are shining on us from the ceiling, effectively blinding me. With no room for adjusting to the stage and the noise of the crowds, the band starts the first song. The ticking drum beat and bass line lead us in, the guitar strums steady and warm. When the drum lines up, I lean in close to the microphone, my whole body melting around the stand.

"_I heard it told by her mother old, she could try, she could try it. With the power of tin and a bottle of gin, she was wise, she was wise to it,"_ I sing, letting the movements and cheering and singing of the crowd just push me into this hazy state of being where everything I experience is like it's hitting me a thousand times; like I'm invincible; I'm made of gold. I begin to scan the crowd, looking at all the smiling, sweaty faces. Some are singing along, some are pumping their hand in the air in time to the music.

Before I even realize it, I'm singing the chorus, Simon and Eric "Oooh"-ing behind me.

"_It was a suicide Saturday, in a summertime kind of way,"_ I sing with a devilish smile. my eyes screw shut every few words and I channel every single emotion I'm feeling, this euphoric high right into the music and my expressions and I feel myself and my energy filling the room like a gas. When I look down to the front of the stage, at the jumping smiling bodies, my eyes connect with one pair of forest green ones, perfectly illuminated by the fleeting stage lights. I smile wider than I thought possible and wink down at her. I hear another girl in the crowd scream in response to the wink.

All over the crowd are thrusting hands and loud smiles and video-taking iPhones. When the song winds down, it's like a dream. The band and I whisper into our mics together, "_Suicide Saturday, Suicide Saturday." _

When the song really does end, people cheer and clap and scream for us. I smile at all the faces in the room.

"Hello, Portland!" I shout into the mic. People scream. "How are we all doing tonight?" I ask, still smiling. I think I might just smile from now until the end of time. An absolute eruption of cheers is my response. "We are The Mortal Instruments, and we're here to sing a couple songs for you guys."

"Stick around," says Simon, just before launching us into the next song.

* * *

I'm so overcome with emotion that I think I could actually cry. Here is my tiny baby Simon, the one who broke his glasses like every week on the playground, and could never pronounce the word ambulance properly (he always said something along the lines of ambleeblence) and got punched in the face for standing up to that dick Malachi in the sixth grade when he called me "Freaky Freckles". Here he is, on stage with his band, performing in a big venue to a big crowd of people with the biggest smile on his face I think I've ever seen. Here he is, doing what he loves, and completely succeeding. I always knew he could do it.

And oh dear God, Jace looks so hot. He looks so fucking hot and he's sweating and his body is moving around his mic stand like nothing I've ever seen before and sometimes, mid-phrase his eyes will just roll into the back of his head and basically this is the best thing I've ever seen in my whole life.

Isabelle and I are positively ecstatic. We join our hands, my right and her left, and pump them in the air together in time with the music. I lose myself in the shifting beats of the different songs, letting my chest thump in time and my feet push me up and down. Every couple minutes, we look over at eachother, gaping grins and dancing bodies and eyes understanding each other.

Songs come and go, our hands stay clasped. The songs all roll by, complete with screaming and jumping and unfairly sexy dancing on Jace's part and _oh my god did I just think that? I did!_ I laugh loudly at my own inner monologue.

_I think Jace is sexy!_

Pumped with adrenaline the show goes quicker than I expected, maybe just because I'm screaming and jumping up and down and dancing the whole time. Jace looks so good on the stage, like he honestly belongs there. When they play _Cigarette Daydreams_, I actually cry. Something about the words resonate with me in a clandestine, unfair way.

"_You can drive all night, looking for the answers in the pouring rain. Wanna find piece of mind, looking for the answers." _I have spent so long looking for these answers that I already knew within me. I have driven in this metaphorical rain, let it pelt the windshield of my car so fast and hard and relentless that the wipers can't even dent the flow. And I've stared out at the blurry haze of lights and tried to decipher what it is that's out there, what it is that I'm looking for. But I think the answer has been sitting in the passenger seat the whole entire time.

Isabelle scolds me for possibly ruining her makeup, but then I see her get teary-eyed too.

They close out the bulk of their set with Do I Wanna Know? by the Arctic Monkeys and the heavy, drowning qualities of the song encompass the weight of the crowd and the thickness of the adrenaline in our blood, in our ears, noses, and mouths. It's like I'm swimming in an ocean of emotion, it's all around me, from below my toes to above my head. When the song drops abruptly at the very end, the lights go immediately dark. The cheers are cacophonous. I feel like I could fly.

Of course, we all know as the headlining band that they're coming back out for an encore. But it doesn't make the cheers any less excited when people begin to chant, "TMI! TMI!" Isabelle and I join in with them, and soon people are clapping along with the three repeated letters. The tempo of the claps gets increasingly faster until we're just shouting the letters in rapid succession and they begin to lose their meaning altogether. Right when the chants dissolve into laughing and clapping, the band reappears. They take their time putting their instrument straps back on; Jace waves and smirks at the crowd.

"This one's called Shiver Shiver!" Simon shouts and they start right back up again. Jace's whole body moves along with the song. He dances around looking vaguely like a stomping dinosaur (but in a hot way) before sliding right flush up against the mic stand just as the vocals start in the most delicious way. When that song too winds down, my feet throbbing, voice hoarse, and heart beating erratically and powerfully, there's a pause, and they don't launch into the next song. Simon removes his bass and pulls a small ukulele off a stand I hadn't seen behind him. Eric puts down his drumsticks and Kirk and Matt move to the back of the stage. Soon it's just Simon and Jace standing together at the front of the stage.

"This is a special song, dedicated to someone equally special," Jace says. He looks down at me. I feel like my heart might be failing. The lights soften and move in almost like a spotlight on Jace and Simon. Jace looks like an angel up on the stage, the halo of light around him just like the one I had drawn in that sketch of him months ago when we had first met. The one I still kept in my bedside drawer.

"Clary Fray, this song's for you," Jace says looking right at me. My heart is definitely failing. The crowd begins to move away from me, pulling out so I'm standing alone in a miniature circle. The whole room is turned towards me. My body is tremoring.

Simon plays a few strums of the ukulele. Jace, pulling the microphone from the stand to hold it right below his mouth sings, "_Wise men say only fools rush in," _Oh god, I'm going to cry. I'm going to cry, "_But I can't help falling in love with you_." The whole crowd breaks out in "awww"'s. I bring a shaking hand up to my mouth.

I try as hard as I can, but I can't hold back the small sobs. I don't think I've ever felt this way in my whole life. I think I might completely explode. It's like my heart is ten times larger than it should be. "_Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes; somethings were meant to be." _I don't think I've ever been this happy in my entire life. I would say I could cry, but I'm already doing that.

Jace extends a hand down to the audience from the stage. I reach out to take it and he lifts me up onto the stage with him. The whole crowd sings along for the end of the song. "_Take my hand, take my whole life too. Cause I can't help falling in love with you." _

I look into his eyes, illuminated by the stage lights and overjoyed beyond description. And in them, the most pronounced thing I see is certainty. He knows he loves me, he can look into my eyes in front of all these people and tell me he loves me without a doubt. And the scariest, most terrifyingly wonderful part about it is that right now I could do the same thing. I want to plunge into whatever this is, to allow myself to be swallowed by fate, no matter what the outcome might be. Because, I know looking into his eyes, that he trusts me with his heart. And I trust him with mine. I love him too. I think I've known it all along.

The crowd falls completely silent for the very last line. We both breathe heavily for a second, entranced by the eyes of the other. And it's like it is only Jace and me. He looks me right in the eyes, a smile playing on his lips as he sings it, "_I keep falling in love with you."_

I cup his face in my fingers and I kiss him.

And it takes me back to those kisses on his couch, and another, in a small dark space. _Our first kiss_, I realize, _the one in his bathtub. _I hadn't remembered it all these months, and now, with the adrenaline running through me, and his lips against mine it's all coming back. How our bodies leaned together, how his hands had supported me, how huge and all encompassing I felt despite the small space.

I kiss him to the sound of an entire ballroom of people cheering and whooping and screaming. I kiss him when he lifts me up, wrapping his arms around the small of my back, and holds me so tight I think my ribs might break. I kiss him with all the emotion I have, all the feeling that's been stored away for so long. I kiss him with the force of an ocean. I kiss him like I've never kissed anyone before. I kiss him as if it's the only thing for me to do, because it is.

I kiss him, I kiss him, I kiss him.

* * *

**:O**

**we made it guys**

**ok so that final song I imagined in the style of twenty one pilots, but I morphed that version and Ingrid Michaelson's version because I used the last line of Ingrid Michaelson's because it's just SO CUTE and tbh I recommend that at least with that part, if you can/want to, reread it with the song playing (the 21p one) because WOW **

**I LOVE THEM AND I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THAT SCENE BECAUSE I DID A LOT AND I KNOW IT WAS KINDA PREDICTABLE AND CHEESY BUT I LOVE IT ANYWAY AND I CRIED WHEN I WROTE IT AND I JUST HAVE WANTED TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU GUYS FOR SO LONG WOW OK (LIKE THREE WEEKS BUT I'VE BEEN S AV IN G IT!)**

**if you don't want to use 8tracks or can't for some reason, the whole setlist is as follows:  
**Suicide Saturday / Hippo Campus  
Heartbeat / Kopecky  
Be Your Man / Ivan &amp; Alyosha  
We Are Young / Fun.  
Sedona / Houndmouth  
Cigarette Daydreams / Cage the Elephant  
Don't Save Me / Haim  
Sun Hands / Local Natives  
Glory and Gore / Lorde  
Do I Wanna Know? / Arctic Monkeys  
Shiver Shiver / Walk the Moon  
Can't Help Falling in Love / Twenty One Pilots


	23. Kisses and Emails

**Hi ok uh yeah I haven't posted in like a year I think but I'm not dead and I don't think this story is either (at least not yet) so uh ya. Hi i guess.**

**This chapter is comprised of several very short spurts of scenes I guess? Like it jumps time a lot. I swear the next chapter and the one after that don't do that but idk. This one does I guess. **

**Just wanted to take a minute to say thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed/favorited/followed this story, you guys are the shit. I promise I didn't leave this story on purpose and I tried really hard to keep writing it (more on that at the end I guess?) but yeah thanks for sticking around. Or if you're new to the boat, welcome. This story is two years old and has a shitty writer. good luck.**

**all mistakes are mine.**

**enjoy! **

* * *

Okay holy shit—first of all. Second of all—actually there isn't really a second of all. It's just holy shit. The crowd is still cheering so loud and Clary's eyes are looking right up in mine and we're both breathing so hard and god damn she looks so hot and this is pretty much the greatest moment of my entire life.

"I actually do love you, you know," I tell her in between heavy breaths. "It wasn't just because it's a pretty song. I mean, conveniently, it is a pretty song, but I really do actually love you."

She leans her forehead down against my chest and laughs, eyes closed. Her breathing is heavy too, her chest is heaving with each great breath she takes.

"I love you too," she says, and then, finally, the lights go down.

I take Clary's hand, and together we walk off the stage. "Oh holy shit," Simon shouts when we meet him, "I've got to call Jon and Jordan!" He runs off down the hallway to retrieve his phone from the green room.

"I just um, was wondering, if–" I breathe out an uncomfortable laugh (it sounds a lot like 'heh'), "um, if this is real?"

Clary, whose hand is still clutching mine tightly, looks up at me as we walk down the dimly lit hallway. "I'm not really sure," she responds honestly with the best smile I've ever seen.

"I hope so," I tell her. She smiles more, her little dimples appearing among her freckles. She reaches a hand up and pinches my upper arm as we approach the green room. "Ow!" I yelp.

"Definitely real," she hums. I think this is probably a fair time to mention that she looks hot as hell. Like seriously hot. I kiss her again.

"I'm allowed to call you my girlfriend now, right? That's what this is?"

"No, Jace, I decided, now that I've told you I love you that I just want to remain friends," Clary says, her voice oozing sarcasm. I laugh a bit..

"Let's please not ever do _that_ again."

"God no," she says. I grab my jacket off one of the couches, and make sure I have my phone and wallet and keys.

"Worst three months of my life," I tell her honestly.

"To answer your original question: yes, you may call me your girlfriend. Only so long as I can refer to you as my boyfriend in times other than when I'm lying to my boss."

"Sounds like a deal to me. You're a terrible liar anyway," I smirk. She swats my chest with her hand and we exit the venue.

* * *

Simon invites us out for celebratory drinks, but Jace opts out, saying that he's wiped out, and I decide to give him a ride home. I didn't want him to have to bike all the way home. We made microwave popcorn and took turns throwing it into each other's mouths while the X FIles played in the background. We laughed and we made out and we snuggled and we mutually decided that's all that we would do for tonight. Jace told me he "at least wanted to take me out to dinner before trying to get in my pants."

And it was really nice. It was just like before, which I am stupidly relieved by. I had a weird moment on the way to the car that maybe now that we were together, it would be different. Maybe Boyfriend-Jace was different from Regular-Jace.

And then he all but shouted at me to pull over so he could get a picture with the Abraham Lincoln statue wearing sunglasses in front of someone's house. And I realized that that was the stupidest idea I'd ever had. Jace would always be Jace.

We kissed probably seventeen thousand times throughout the night, and every few times Jace would get this stupid little face like he was about to sneeze right afterward. "Alright, what is that?" I had finally asked once I had become sufficiently intrigued.

"I just can't believe I can do that," Jace said. "Kiss you, I mean. I just can't believe I can kiss you now." I kissed him again.

* * *

The next morning (in that strange morning limbo time where you can't quite decide if it still counts as early or if it is now onto late morning; somewhere around 9:26), Jace knocked on the door toting mochas and bagels. I had been in my art room painting, so he accompanied me.

This room was no longer new territory, as it had been that very first time when I found him in here and got angry and embarrassed and cried into his shirt. This was comfortable. He had come in many times since then, had even watched me sketch and paint sometimes. This was one of those times.

I was finishing a commissioned piece, some girl at the restaurant down the road had spied on me sketching and asked for a piece. All she wanted was a watercolor rendering of a portrait photo taken of her. It was very predictable, and fairly easy. I asked her to highlight her favorite parts of the photo, and made sure those parts were as she wanted them to be. The rest I softened, feminized, and sweetened. But not in a condescending way. I didn't turn her into some kind of cutesy Disney girl, rather I treated her face with the respect and kindness it deserved, as the photo hadn't done justice to the joy in each of her smiles, or properly captured the exploding radiance of light in her eyes.

"You're really talented, you know," Jace said, once the painting and the coffees and the bagels were all finished. We were laying on the floor of my yellow art room, letting the warm light soak into our skin.

"It's not really that big a deal," I say, looking up at the finished piece. Our heads are huddled closely, only a few inches between our ears, but our bodies are lying in opposite directions. I feel his head turn to look at me. I turn mine to look back. His eyes are ghosting across my face, his lips smiling slightly.

"I mean it," he says, propping his head up on one of his arms, "you're really talented. And not just when it comes to art. Everything you do, you apply yourself to it wholeheartedly."

I kiss his nose at the compliment.

* * *

Clary ends up falling asleep right there on the floor in her art room only an hour or so after she finishes her painting. We had been sitting silently in the sunlight long enough that I didn't even notice until I heard a soft snore. I tilt my head to look at her and she's completely asleep, lying on her side with her hands tucked underneath her cheek.

I know the woman wanted to come by to pick up the painting at around 2:00, so I set my phone alarm for 1:30 and allow myself to drift off too.

When I wake, it's just in time to see her stretch her arms out above her head with a yawn. "Nice nap?" I ask her as I blink the sleep out of my eyes.

"Mmhmm," she hums, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. "Thanks for letting me sleep."

Clary decides to brush her teeth to rid herself of her coffee breath before her client arrives to pick up the painting. When the woman does arrive, introducing herself as Karen, her eyes light up when she sees the painting. Her mouth sucks in a gasp and her eyes begin to water.

"This is beautiful," she says, reaching her hand out like she's going to touch the canvas, but stopping herself before she does. "Thank you so much." Clary hadn't signed her name anywhere on the canvas, not wanting to distract from Karen's portrait. But Karen insisted that Clary did before she paid her so that when people saw, they would know the artist who had painted such beautiful work. Clary was blushing, flattered, and obliged.

Once the woman had left, Clary took my hands and opened up my arms to snuggle herself against my chest. I closed my arms around her, embracing her tightly.

"Is this weird?" Clary asks against my shirt.

"Is what weird?" I reply.

"I don't know," she says with a loll of her head. "Do other couples fall asleep on the floor together after dating for 12 hours?"

I take a moment to consider it. "You know, I don't think they do. But also, I doubt that 'other couple' standards apply to us. We are our own brand of couple."

"True," Clary says, returning her face to my chest. "I doubt other girlfriends put up with as much shit from their boyfriends as I do."

"That's definitely what it is," I say with a roll of my eyes. Clary chuckles into my shirt.

* * *

**To: Jace Wayland**

**From: Simon Lewis**

**Subject: u have ballz/bring them to dinner? ;)**

International Jace Station,

I totally stole that name from Clary (see paragraph 2). Is that weird to call you by her names for you now that you're dating? Because I don't want to lead you on or anything. I mean, I totally would, like any day of the week except that I'm in a committed relationship and all. And I am not an adulterous type of guy. In another world though, Wayland… (like one w/o Izzy and Clary)

speaking of CLARY! Holy shit you kissed Clary in front of like, a lot of people. That was ballsy. You guys are like, engaged to be married now, right? Because Izzy says she won't settle for anything less and frankly I have to agree on that one. (If you are/were seeking my blessing, I bestow it upon you 100%).

Anyways, back to the reason I emailed you at all/in the first place, The Mortal Instruments has some serious shit to discuss with you. But I think this news might be better delivered in person. I would call the whole band in for a meeting but Matt got the flu? (fucking amateur) so we can't do that. Do you want to get dinner tomorrow night instead?

It can be me, you, Izzy, and Clary! It'll be like a double date. (Not like we haven't totally been doing those already, but now it's like official. And also Clary won't squeak and leave the venue if anyone mentions your love for each other).

Be there or be square, Wayland.

**Simon**

I read it over twice from my office desk, trying to figure out what it is TMI needs to discuss with me. After several minutes of coming up with progressively worse and worse ideas (maybe they think I stole something from the venue! Maybe I peed my pants on stage and no one wanted to tell me because they were embarrassed and my urine damaged some of the cords!), I decide to move on. I'll figure it out at dinner. Although I have yet to check and see if my date is willing to accompany me.

I forward the email to her then get back to work. I've barely started before I get another notification from my email.

**To: Jace Wayland**

**From: Clary Fray**

**Subject: abhorrent**

There are a series of things that I can not believe. First, is that I even know Simon. What a fucking dork.

Second is that he would even suggest a world without Izzy and me. A world such as that would be grey and dreary and bleak! Also, the two of you would have never met? His logic is entirely flawed.

Third is that we're engaged? I'm like 70% sure he's joking but honestly, with the limited recollection I have of those five minutes when everyone in that room was staring at me, it could very well be true.

Fourth is that I was totally being tricked into dating you all this time by Simon and Izzy. Like, looking back it seems completely obvious. But I swear in the moment, that couples massage the four of us did seemed super platonic, even though my heart hurt being that close to you. Why did I wait so long to kiss your stupid face?

Sixth (did i skip five? oh well) is that _I _am slacking off at _work _to write you this stupid email. Jk, i haven't seen a customer in at least three hours we're good.

But anyway yeah I'm free all day tomorrow so dinner works.

**x Clary**

P.S. I do NOT squeak

* * *

"Hey, Clary?" I ask.

"_What's up?"_

"Well, I was just thinking that, you know, we agreed to go out with Izzy and Simon tomorrow. And, I guess that would be our first _actual _date."

"_Huh. I guess you're right." _

"But, I've never had a successful relationship bloom from a double-date-first-date. And I'm pretty sure I want this to be a successful relationship.."

"_Only _pretty _sure, Wayland? This may not be a successful relationship after all," _she teases.

"Okay, I'm really sure," I admit. She laughs lightly on the other end of the phone.

"_Well then I guess you'll have to take me on a date before then, won't you?"_

"I guess I will," I say with a smile.

* * *

**so this is the longest a/n ever. be forewarned.  
just an update about me: i'm 17 now lol. will be 18 in about 3 months? heading into my senior year of high school (last year before uni/college in american school systems). i went to la for the national journalism convention. that shit was tight. **

**anyway that's kinda it. read on for a mega long diary post about why i haven't posted :)**

Really long, personal story ahead.

so the reason this story hasn't been updated in a year is because for the last year, i have been really struggling with clinical depression.

i let it go for months without seeking help and it got to the point where i stopped going to school and then for a short time just stopped getting out of bed. I isolated myself. I lost friends. I pushed away anyone who tried to help me. It was really, really hard.

my depression completely cut off my creative thought processes. i would sit in front of my computer and just _cry_ and _cry _and _cry_ because in the past when i was hurting or emotional, i would write until i felt better. but when i was depressed, it was like i couldn't think. i couldn't do anything. the above chapter was really truly honestly written over the entire course of the year i was sick. i could get down only a few sentences at a time and none of them were good. the reason this chapter is written in short little spurts is because i was only really able to think in short little of what you see above was heavily (_heavily_) revised in the few days leading up to posting this.

when i started having suicidal thoughts was when i finally decided i needed help. after almost a year of suffering in relative silence, i explained to my mom what i was going through. i think i had known for a long time what was really wrong, i just didn't want to admit it to myself or others. there's a really big stigma surrounding mental illness and i didn't want to label myself that way. at first my mom tried to write it off as other things. but then she came around. she understood what was going on with me and wanted to see me improve as much as I did.

I saw a therapist and he diagnosed me within minutes. He prescribed some antidepressants by my third visit. I never took them. They're still sitting in my cabinet (for reasons too lengthy to explain in this already overlong a/n).

but i found other forms of treatment. and i'm so proud to say they're working. i'm fighting this disease that has torn me down for so long now.

those of you that reviewed in the last year, thank you. your little notes and comments were like little motivators to me in this weird dark time i was going through. they helped me find joy in an otherwise unhappy stretch of months.

**I want to end this little diary passage by saying that if you think you may be suffering from mental illness, please seek help. one thing that really helped me was just having a doctor look me in the eyes and tell me _yes_, i was experiencing these things. these were all very real things that were happening to me and _no,_ these things were not my fault. I didn't have to blame myself anymore for what this stupid illness had done to me. **

**If you are scared about telling your parents or don't have access to a doctor who can help you and really just need to talk to someone about depression or anything else (honestly, _anything else_), please always feel welcome to private message me. I don't want anyone to struggle alone the way I did. I care about every single one of you and want for you all to be safe and healthy and happy. **

**thank you for reading, and if you see this, please leave a review! i love you guys :)**


	24. Paint Swirled Skin

**a/n: ok after the shit-storm that was my last author's note i'm going to try to make this more upbeat.**

**first off, thank you to everyone who left me a kind or reassuring review or pm. it really was indescribable receiving such a wave of love from people i've never even met. i love you all, so thank you :)**

**here's a newer, longer, ****hopefully better(?) chapter. I realize that my voice and writing style have changed since last year, but I kinda like this new stuff better than my old stuff. it just feels more refined i guess? more cohesive and put together. so idk i guess you'll either like it or you won't!**

**enjoy (hopefully)!**

* * *

The date has a multi-part plan, according to Jace.

All I really know is that he told me on the phone last night to wear shoes "with little to no sentimental value. Shoes that you'd be okay with never wearing again." Whatever the hell that means.

The summer sun is hanging high in the sky when Jace knocks on my door. Jace says he has to run inside my place and grab something before we head down to the parking lot. I offer to go with him, but he says it's a secret mission and that my security clearance is not yet high enough to join him. A few minutes later he comes back with a cloth bag and when I try to take a peek inside, he holds it close to his chest and walks down the hall without me, towards the parking lot. After I finally acquiesce and let him drive my car, he smiles brilliantly and the hair hanging close to his eyes shines gold.

"It's to enhance the surprise," he says. "How is the destination supposed to stay a secret if I'm telling you how to get there the whole time?"

We drive for a short while, nothing but each other and the music and the concrete jungle roads to keep us busy. We play I Spy and Jace loses extremely consistently. He picks the most obvious things.

"I Spy with my little eye, something... orange!" Jace says. I roll my eyes.

"My hair?" I groan, not even needing the affirmative reply to know I'm right.

"You got it!" he exclaims.

"Jace, that's the third time you've picked my hair, you have to pick something new."

He laughs. "Doesn't matter anyway, we're just about there."

I look out the window and see we're surrounded by green trees, stretching up onto the hilly terrain. There's a stone building perched on the hillside and above it is a tall, thin, two-tier waterfall.

"Welcome to Multnomah Falls," Jace says as he pulls into a parking spot.

"Wow," is all I can say. It's absolutely beautiful. The way the trees frame the waterfall, and the arch bridge running right across the center of it, tiny bodies milling across with arms poised and waving to the loved ones down below.

"Right?" Jace replies. "Follow me."

* * *

We begin our trek at the gift-shop-slash-soft-serve-ice-cream-shop at the base of the falls. Jace buys us each an ice cream (chocolate-vanilla swirl) and we set off for the bridge. It's not very large, and made of cement. As we cross, I count eight different people throwing pennies down into the water below. Mist from the falls sprays down and covers my hair and face, accumulating under my eyes in little droplets. I wipe them away.

"So what are we doing exactly?" I ask Jace after a lick of my ice cream.

"We're hiking!" he replies cheerily. Normally I would groan and roll my eyes. But here, passing up a hike feels like an insult to all of divinity. "I've hiked this trail a dozen times and I can't wait for you to see it. It's breathtaking."

So we set out hiking.

It's a long trail of switchbacks, and the higher up we go, the thinner the trail gets. Where Jace and I were once walking hand in hand, feet in sync next to each other, it suddenly becomes a single-file only trail. Jace leads, with his hand extended out behind him for me. I hold it tightly and smile.

It is breathtaking. Everything is green and blue and the kind of grey that holds beautiful secrets. It smells like water and earth and promises long kept. This place is the kind to remind you that you're alive. That in every second, you're breathing, you're _existing,_ and leaving an impact all around you. This is the kind of place to remind you that magic is real and it's everywhere.

"Hey Jace?" I call up to him. He stops walking to turn around and look at me. I lean up and kiss him for a long moment and he gives me the same rush of beauty and wonder as our surroundings. I feel his lips quirk up against mine and he pulls away. He places one hand on my cheek and looks at me incredulously.

"What was that for?" he asks with the most beautiful smile on his face I've ever seen. Multnomah Falls may be beautiful, but it's got nothing on him. He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and it sends butterflies fluttering through my tummy.

"Just because," I say with a smile.

"Well in that case..." he says with a sly smile. He kisses me this time, just a quick peck. I giggle. "This is switchback nine of eleven, so we're almost to the top."

"Really?" I ask. It was a much shorter walk than I had been expecting. We couldn't have walked even a full mile. He nods and we continue on.

I brave a quick look down over the ledge and immediately back up a few steps. The walk up wasn't long but man, are we high up.

"This is nothing," Jace says, reading my thoughts. "Just wait until we reach the top."

And he's right. When we finally reach the top of the trail and walk over to the top-most spot in which to look down at the water below, I have to grip Jace's arm to look. The height is dizzying. Beautiful. So, _so_ beautiful. But dizzying.

"This is.." I trail off, not knowing what I can really even say to express how beautiful this view is.

"Breathtaking," he says. I squeeze his arm in response. If you look straight down, you see nothing but rushing water and the small cement bridge, the people mere dots across the expanse of it. If you look out, you can see miles and miles down the Columbia river gorge. The blue water reflecting the light, the green valleyed mountains absorbing it. "Don't get too hung up," Jace says. "This is just the beginning." His warm smile is enough of a reassurance that I brave one more look over the edge at all the people below. I even spy my little yellow volvo in the parking lot, just an old, sun-stained spot among many.

When we've both had our fill of the view, Jace leads me away from the edge. He looks around us once and then, disobeying all the signs, leads me off-trail. He still has his secret bag slung over his shoulder as he navigates us both through the dense greenery.

The sheer quantity and healthiness of the green plant life is something that I've long been accustomed to now. But when I first moved here I remember just being absolutely blown away. Everywhere I looked was lush green life, something I never really got on the East Coast. Sure, we had trees and grasses and bushes. But it was nothing like here in the Pacific Northwest. Everywhere you looked was an Evergreen surrounded by ferns and snaked all the way up with vines. The colors and the smells and the cool security of it all made me feel near invincible.

Jace looks back once to check on me and I smile at him, but besides that we walk.

When we finally reach a clearing, Jace takes my hand and leads me through. Once through the green archway, I open my eyes and gasp. It's a large expanse of daisies, a beautiful meadow of them. Enclosed on all sides by thick green trees, this is like our own clear-skied sanctuary.

Jace lets go of my hand to open his secret bag. He pulls out a large thick blanket that I got at the beach and fans it out in the center of all the daisies. He motions for me to sit and I do, admiring the colors all around us—the beautiful blue of the sky, the wall of greenery, the white of the daisies and the gold of the air.

"God, if only I'd brough my paints," I sigh, laying back and cushioning my head under my arms.

"Never fear, my lady," Jace says, pulling more from the bag. Inside is a box of strawberries, some bread and cheese, cream soda, and my travel case of art supplies. The case had been a gift from Jon's girlfriend a few years ago. It's pale wood with big brass clasps and a brass handle. Jace opens it to reveal one of my sketchbooks, some copics, my 2Bs, and an array of water colors.

I'm so happy I could kiss him. So I do.

I grab my thermos and use the small cup-like lid to hold my paint water as I immediately set in on my water colors.

And that's how the day goes: me alternating between painting the scenery and painting the lazily-golden Jace, and Jace alternating between feeding my strawberries and using his finger and some leftover paint to paint little swirling patterns on my bare arms and legs. It's the best first date I could have ever asked for.

When I tell him exactly that, Jace places a sloppy kiss on the pale, freckled surface of my knee and tells me I'm the best girlfriend he could have ever asked for. All I can do is throw myself on top of him and give him a giggly, paint-smeared smooch.

Although all I really want is to lay in Jace's arms in this magical meadow until the sun goes down, Jace reminds me that we have dinner plans with Simon and Izzy. And, this being Oregon in the summer, the sun won't set for hours to come, anyway. Just a few weeks ago Jace and I spent a day on the waterfront in the city and watched the sun set close to 8, and the days have only gotten longer since then.

So, begrudgingly, we pack up our little picnic and I pack up my paints and we begin the trek back down to the parking lot. The hikers sneer at the forest green swirls snaking up my arm and down my leg as they walk past, but I couldn't care less. Jace holds my hand the whole way down and I feel like my smile could light the whole world. When we reach my old beater, he offers me the keys and opens the driver's side door for me. I slide into my seat and in a few moments, the two of us and a heavy load of beautiful memories are sputtering up onto the freeway.

"You make me happier than I ever thought I'd be allowed to be," Jace says quietly, our hands intertwined in the center console. And I couldn't agree more.

* * *

Izzy was allowed to pick the restaurant. As it turns out one of her old fashion-friends had apparently felt unfulifilled in the fashion industry. So he took himself, his mousse, and his massive trust fund and ventured out to the restaurant business. I guess he decided he liked it, for he opened his own and now Isabelle just _had_ to visit.

Which is all well and good except now that leaves me here, having to _dress nice_ for this dinner. I only have like three nice outfits and I'm stressing out about which of them to wear. I'm so nervous I'm sweating for some reason. I can't decide what to wear and the stress is too much and I'm almost thinking about cancelling so I grab my phone and immediately FaceTime Jordan. He'll know what to do.

"Clare-Bear!" he practically squeals when our connection is secured. His face is lit up until he sees my frizzing hair and my wide eyes and my red cheeks. "Girl, what is wrong with you?"

"I don't know what to wear," I blurt. "I have my second official date with Jace tonight and, I don't know, I'm feeling really nervous. My whole tummy is full of butterflies and I know it's just Jace but it's at a fancy restaurant and there's all this added pressure and I have to look nice and I don't know what to do and what if he doesn't like my dress and realizes we're not a good match and he dumps me or what if after dinner because I'm all dressed up he takes me home and expects more from me than I can really give and—"

"Shit, Clary, slow down. You're going to have an aneurysm if you continue talking that fast." I nod and take a few deep breaths. "What's the problem?" he asks again once he's seen that I've calmed down a bit.

"I have a dinner at a fancy restaurant with Jace tonight. It feels really legit and I'm feelin like I have nothing to wear. None of my clothes are fitting right and I don't know what to do. I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed."

"Well, first of all, this is Jace were talking about here. You could show up in a garbage bag and he would look at you like you hung the fucking moon. Trust me, I had to endure enough of the puppy dog stares while I was there, and that was even before the months of pining you put him through," Jordan teases. It does ease my nerves a bit though. This is the guy who took me to paint in a meadow for our first date. I had been tempted to leave the paint swirls he'd crafted on my skin for everyone to see at dinner, but in the end had needed to wash some of the grass and sap out of my hair. I had smiled as I watched the forest green water swirl down the drain of the shower (and I may have wondered what it would have been like to have Jace be the one to wash the paint from my wet skin, for his hands to trail down my green freckled arms, for the paint-soaked water to swirl around his feet too—though I never ever would admit that to anyone. Except, now, maybe him. I could admit those things to him now).

"Second of all, Clary, you're like a short, curvy stick. I'm sure everything fits fine. Try it on again now that you're not so sweaty and anxious." I give him a half-smile and nod. "I'll be right here." So I try on my three outfits again. The first is a plum tulip dress with little black drop earrings and some black pumps. It hugs my waist but is loose around my hips and the v-neck shows a pretty decent amount of boobage. Plus, it has pockets. That was the selling point for me, I think. I bought it for an interview I had back in New York and have worn it probably a billion times since. Once it's all on, I head back to the phone that I had thrown onto the bed and show Jordan.

"Outfit number 1," I say, pointing the phone toward the floor-to ceiling mirror for Jordan to see. He and I go through the pros and cons of this outfit, the biggest con being that, predictably, I look like I'm going to an interview.

"You're going to a nice dinner with your boyfriend, not applying for a job. Although, all in all not too bad. Let's try the others but we can come back to this one if need be." So I heed his advice and rush off to try outfit #2. Jordan dismisses the black three-quarter sleeved, scoop-neck sweater dress citing the fact that it's summer and that I'm also "not a librarian, Clary. Although, I guess in a way you are."

When I turn the phone towards the floor-length mirror the final time, Jordan whistles.

"Girl," he says, "where has this dress been all your life?" I beam down at his tiny pixelated face on the screen. And then I beam at my reflection.

I'm wearing a floor length, forest green chiffon dress. It has a high neckline with thin straps that connect the front and back of the fitted bodice. Right at my natural waist is where is loosens a bit, but only enough to flatter the willowy silhouette of the dress. The thin fabric shows the shape of my legs but is opaque everywhere else. The dark green of it, similar to the velvet mini dress I wore the other night, compliments my red hair and my pale skin. Jordan helps me pick out some gold jewelry—a matching bracelet, necklace, and hair piece shaped with tiny leaves to look like vinery. I pull a few curls from each side to pin behind my head with the hair piece but leave some to frame my face.

I apply some makeup but—per Jordan's urging—keep it very simple. Aside from filling in my brows a bit, I apply some mascara, a thin and understated winged liner, a muted lipstick, and a small brush of shimmery highlight on my cheekbones. When I turn the camera back on my face, Jordan gives me a big smile. "Clary," he says, "if you were not on your way out the door for a date with your soulmate, I would reach through the screen and kiss you."

I blush. "Jordan, you're embarrassing me. How am I supposed to tell Jace when he arrives that I'm blushing from the advances of another man?" I joke with mock shock in my voice.

"Oh, he'll get over it," Jordan says with a big smile. I hear a buzzing through the phone. "Oh, hey Clare, I'm getting another call. I have to go. You look amazing. Positively delicious. Tell me all about the sex tomorrow." I scoff and swat at the phone and he places a kiss on his phone camera. We say our Love-You's and hang up.

I still have forty minutes until Jace is going to "pick me up" (walk two steps to the right and knock on my door) so I decide to tidy up my room a bit. Despite my negative reaction to Jordan's crass comment, there's honestly a very real possibility that Jace and I could have sex tonight. And if it ends up being at my place, I have to be a little prepared, right?

Some time later, I'm interrupted from my nervous thumb-twiddling on the couch by the doorbell ringing. The tummy butterflies resurface as I rise from the couch and approach the door. _It's just Jace,_ I tell myself. _It's just Jace. You love him, he knows. He loves you too. What are you so worried about?_ But I have the second-date jitters and I can't seem to shake them.

With a deep breath, I open the door.

Jace stands there with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, outstretched toward me. But when he sees me, his mouth falls open and his arm falls back at his side, bringing the flowers with him. "Clary," he breathes my name as if for the first time. "You look…" he seems at a loss for words. "I'm just speechless. I can't begin to tell you how beautiful you look." I'm blushing so much I must look like a tomato.

"You don't look so bad, yourself," I say lamely. But it's true. Jace is wearing a black button down and black dress pants with a heather grey blazer. He's wearing a pair of black suede oxfords and, with his shirt slightly unbuttoned as it is, looks exactly like the menswear model he should probably be.

"Thank you," Jace says with a shy smile. "Jordan helped me pick it actually. I had some outfit trouble. I guess I was nervous." Jace laughs softly at the uncharacteristic admission.

"No way!" I say with a scoff. "I did the exact same thing." It is endlessly reassuring to know that Jace was as nervous for this as I was, and that we went to the same person for help.

"Well I'll have to text him my thanks then, because you look amazing." He smiles and holds the bouquet back up. It's a large bunch of baby's breath tied together with a sugar pink ribbon.

"It's beautiful," I say, with a gracious smile.

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman," Jace says with his signature golden smirk and I would slap it off his face if I wasn't blushing so goddamn much.

I take the bouquet from him and tuck it into one arm. He offers his elbow to me and says, "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I reply with a smirk. And I realize as he leads me by my arm to the parking lot that all my worrying was for naught, because I feel more secure by his side than I ever have.

* * *

I pull up to the restaurant in Clary's car and see a line out the door for seating. I'm instantly glad that Izzy knows the owner and that he knows we're coming, otherwise this would be a nightmare.

We luck out with a spot on the street just a block away. When I turn off the engine Clary makes to get out of the car but I catch her by her wrist.

"Wait," I whisper.

Her eyebrows knit up at me quizzically. The soft interior lights of the car cast a glow across her whole face—her long lashes, her freckles cheekbones, and her perfectly plump lips—and I swear to myself in that moment she could be an angel. She's nestled into her seat with her hands resting on top of the bouquet in her lap. I reach over, grab it, and untie the string. Taking one of the stems, I snap it so it's shorter then lean closer to Clary. Her eyes follow my hand until eventually they flutter closed as I tuck the stem into the tied-back section of her hair. I continue with the rest of the bouquet: a rhythmic snapping and a delicate tucking. When my lap is free of flowers and Clary's laurel is finished, I kiss her cheek.

"People are going to think I look so silly," she whispers with a self-deprecating laugh.

"Clary, you look beautiful. Ethereal," I breathe. God, what is this girl doing to me? I can barely even breathe the way her eyes are glowing at me.

Her mouth twists up in a shy smile. "Shall we go then?" she asks. And in that moment, with her looks so soft, and so kind—I can't help myself. I gently cup her cheek as I lean across the car and kiss her. It's short and it's sweet and it tastes like a dangerous promise.

"I don't know if I'm ready to share you just yet," I tell her.

She blushes but replies, "Well, you'd better get ready, Greedy, because I'm hungry." I smile ruefully. "For food, genius," she appends.

I laugh but climb out of the car and go around to open her door.

* * *

**hey-o. so if you need a visual for clary's dress, google "Missguided Pascaline High Neck Strappy Maxi Dress" bc that's what i envisioned but in dark green. **

**also multnomah falls is a real place and yes i have been there. many many times. however, because i am afraid of heights i have actually only made the hike to the top once and it was almost ten years ago. so i apologize for the slight inaccuracies. look it up though because it really is breathtaking. **

**uh real quick, in case anyone is looking for something to read as summer is coming to a close, i wanted to plug this book series that i read and loved! right now it's just a duology but there will eventually be a third! the series is called 'A Court of Thorns and Roses' by Sarah J Maas. it's set in this fantasy faerie world which i know is not everyone's cup of tea but trust me, this series is. the first book is pretty good but the second one like blew my mind. i read it almost three months ago when it first came out (like i bought it and read it the day of) and i still have a crazy book hangover from it i can't stop thinking about it. i found my ultimate otp in this series. like i can't get this pairing out of my head. ever. they haunt me. trust me. it is worth a read.**

**it's one of my favorite series of all time i think? it's honestly amazing. so check it out! or if you've already read it, SCREAM ABOUT IT WITH ME OVER PM.**

**also! i started a fandom sideblog on tumblr! this way i can actually post the anon messages i get from you guys. on my other account there are some irl people who don't know about my writing and i'd like to keep it that way lol. You can find my fandom blog at _bellamylightwood_. _(warning: there are a lot of spoilers for a court of thorns and roses on there, so if you plan on reading the books, avert your eyes)_**

**thanks for reading!  
**

**review question: what is your zodiac sign, and do you find it to be accurate?  
**_I am a scorpio and it's weird because sometimes I find some zodiac posts and descriptions to be SO SPOT ON and other times it's like i cant relate at all. but i still like to check horoscopes, mostly to see if mine will come true :)_


	25. War of Sexual Tension

**helloooooooo! been a while! here's 7000 words for you to munch on. Happy Thanksgiving :-)**

* * *

"Clary, you look like an angel!" Isabelle squeals as we approach the door. She throws her arms around Clary's small frame and engulfs her in a hug.

"Doesn't she?" I reply with a smile.

"Eh," Simon jokes, "you've looked better, Clary." She shoves him then laughs and pulls him into a hug.

"You look great too, Jace," Isabelle says as she kisses my cheek and pulls me into a tight one armed hug.

"Well, you're as beautiful as always, Izzy. Though I'm not sure why you choose to associate with _him,_" I say with a jerk of my thumb towards Simon.

"Good to see you too, buddy," Simon says with a grin. He reaches for a handshake and I pull him into a hug. When we're all finished saying our hellos, we shuffle on our feet for a moment.

"Shall we go in?" Izzy says. We all nod and follow her into the building.

It's dark inside the restaurant, but loud. It takes a minute for my senses to adjust. But when they do, I'm blown away. The interior is modern and minimalist. There's some of the exposed brick to reveal the building's pre-gentrified past as some type of warehouse, and the floors are polished concrete. Hanging from the ceilings are the exposed light bulbs for lighting, though they're muted and hazy. The whole room has an orchid glow to it as the waiters and busboys mill about.

"How can I help you?" the hostess asks. But before any of us can reply, an effeminate male voice calls from a few paces away.

"Isabelle, _darling!_"

I turn to see a thin, well dressed man with interesting facial hair. Think Seneca Crane from The Hunger Games. And his hair is like a tub of mousse. But his smile looks genuine and the light in his eyes sincere.

"Damiano!" Isabelle coos in the same semi-precocious tone and wraps the man in a tight embrace. "Thank you so much for inviting us to dinner tonight. The place looks _stunning_."

"Well, you're doing me more of a favor than I'm doing you if we're being honest. I needed some fashionable clientele. Seeing shoes from somewhere other than Ross is so _refreshing."_

"Well you remember my brother Jace, don't you?" Isabelle asks, pointing to me. I don't recall ever meeting this man but I play along. Damiano extends a hand to me and I shake. "And this is his girlfriend, Clary." They turn their attention to Clary and he kisses her hand. But I'm almost too busy to notice, considering she just called Clary my girlfriend. I keep forgetting that, keep forgetting that these words are not taboo now, they belong to us. I can tell Clary how I feel as often as I want, and it's okay. It's _right_, even.

"And this is my boyfriend, Simon," Izzy interrupts my thoughts. I don't know that I'll ever get used to that, either. I'm still not 100% sure how this little partnership came to happen. Though I love Simon and TMI has been a ton of fun, I still don't quite understand why Izzy hasn't realized that she's way out of his league. She's playing a whole different ballgame and she still went for him.

But then I realize that's exactly what people must think when they look at Clary and me. Why would someone as beautiful, smart, artistic, and sure of herself as Clary go for someone like me? I'll always be grateful to whatever force drove her to ever be interested in a guy like me.

I'm interrupted from my thoughts again by a kiss on my cheek. I look down at Clary with a smile as she lowers from her tiptoes. "What was that for?" I ask, wondering if she knew what exactly I was thinking and how her action would be a perfect remedy for it.

"Just because I'm your girlfriend," she replies with a cheeky smile. "And because I can."

So I lean down and kiss her on her perfect lips, just for a brief second. "Because you can?" she asks.

"Because I love you," I reply. And then we turn and half-run to catch up with our group already beginning to ascend the staircase on the far wall.

* * *

The rooftop is the perfect opposite of the indoors. Downstairs was all hazy muted light and industrial-chic. The rooftop is open and fresh and covered with greenery. There is so much light to be had, so many plants growing up and down trellis dividers spaced across the wide roof. The air is warm but the cool breeze coming from the Willamette river reaches us even here. The sun is hanging lazily over the horizon. Everything is perfect.

Damiano seats us at the table, a fairly private one surrounded on two sides by ivy and delicate flowers and on one side by the edge of the roof.

Clary and Simon sit next to each other on one side, Isabelle and I on the other, opposite our dates.

"Your server will be by in just a few moments to take your drink order," Damiano says as he places long single-sheet menus in each of our hands. "Please enjoy," he says smoothly.

Once he has left, Isabelle stage whispers to us, "This is nice. I didn't think he'd be able to pull it off but he _did._"

"This place seems expensive," I say, admiring the intricacy and delicate antiquity that graces all the furniture and decor.

"He seems rich," Simon says, complementing my thought.

"That's because he is," Izzy says. "He rebuilt this place pretty much just because he _could_. I doubt his bank accounts even miss the chunk this place took out."

The waiter approaches, cool and collected, and tells us that Damiano has sent our table a complimentary bottle of champagne, and asks if we would like to order something else as well. We all decline. Who would pass up free champagne?

Conversation is light and fun and easy. I can't help but find myself staring across the table at Clary, trying especially hard to catch her in the moments when she doesn't know I'm looking. Like when she laughs at Simon's joke, holding a few knuckles to her nose trying to stifle it. She leans forward in her seat and the orange glow of the sun is reflecting in her hair and she just looks so beautiful.

When she finally catches me watching her, she gives me a quick warm smile and slides a hand across the table for me to take hold of. I do, and she gives my hand a light squeeze then proceeds to run her thumb over my knuckles rhythmically. It's soothing and comforting and also so distracting.

"Jace? Earth to Jace," I hear Simon say. I snap out of whatever reverie I had been in and clear my throat.

"Sorry, what?" I ask sheepishly. It's evident the way everyone is staring at me that that was not the first time Simon had tried to get my attention.

"No, I mean, if you want to stare creepy-possessively all night at Clary, be my guest, dude," Simon teases. I roll my eyes but feel my cheeks heat up slightly nonetheless. God, I'm like some puppy.

Clary leans in with a cheeky grin on her face and says, "It's okay, it wasn't _that _creepy. Just a little." I can tell she's joking by the playful glint in her eye.

"Stabbed in the front and the back," I say with a scoff as I widen my eyes at her.

"Oh, shut up," Isabelle says. "You're such a drama queen." I wipe the fake surprse off my face and grin. "If you're all done being dorks," Isabelle announces, folding her hands together in front of her on the table, "I think we were about to discuss something important."

I straighten up marginally. To be honest, I had forgotten until now that this whole dinner was for a reason other than getting Clary dressed up and taking her somewhere nice. Simon wanted to talk to me about TMI. I was so stressed when I first got the email, running every potential possibility through my head, that I didn't have any stress over it left in my mind. It had to be better than the worst-case scenarios I had been thinking, so whatever it is I think I'll be able to take it in stride.

Simon clears his throat and looks diagonally over at me. "So, after the gig the other night, I got a call from this guy. He was some scout who had been watching all the performers all weekend. Anyway, I guess he liked our sound and got on call with someone from his label and played one of our recordings for him and—long story short, they offered us a deal." Clary squeals with a big grin on her face as she encircles Simon in a big hug.

"Simon, I'm so proud of you," she says. "This is what you've been dreaming of since you were a kid! I can't believe it!"

I hardly could either. But I still can't figure out what this really has to do with me. I'm happy for him, and honestly the slightest bit glad that I was just a temporary fill-in because I don't know how much of the actual music life I could handle. I mean, all the writing and recording and producing, it just seems like a lot of work. But if this is what Simon's always wanted, I'm so happy for him. "Congratulations, dude. I'm really happy for you," I say. "If youre looking for my blessing as former fill-in or whatever, you have it. One-hundred-percent."

Simon lets out a sharp breath that resembles a laugh. "Well, I'm actually looking for a bit more than that," he says. I'm confused. He can tell. "Well, I told them on the phone that you were just filling in until we could find a permanent replacement for our old singer. And they said they liked our sound the way it was." I have a feeling I know where this is going now. "They won't sign us on unless you agree to sign on too. They want you as the face of The Mortal Instruments, and so do we—if you'll have us."

Knowing it was coming doesn't stop the news from hitting me like a ton of bricks.

They want me. They want _me _as the face of their band as they sign to a record label.

But I don't know if that's really what I want.

Sure, I had the time of my life up on that stage. The adrenaline rush of performing like that to a live audience is unparalleled. I felt like the music was living in my veins, like it gave me purpose. My voice held meaning for those moments in my life I spent on that stage.

But,

There were so many buts. It would be so much work. So much work with potentially little payoff. We could spend weeks putting together an album only to never make it big. There's such a huge pool of musical people who never made it, washed up or otherwise forgotten, swimming through this world. I don't know if I want to spend so much time on a venture I'm not sure will even be worth it in the end.

Everyone is watching me, gauging my expressions and trying to predict my reaction. I have to say something. "Uh… wow," is all I say. What a stupid, stupid thing to say.

"What I meant was—can I have a little time to think about it?" I amend.

Simon gives me a half smile. "Of course, man. No one expects you to make this decision right now. The label wants to know our decision by the end of the month. I talked to Eric and the guys and they all loved performing with you. And I think you're a cool guy. So if that helps your decision making process, just know we all would love to have you in the band."

"Thanks, man," I say. And I mean it.

Conversation picks back up until appetizers arrive. Izzy tells us all about business back at the boutique and how it's finally picking up. She'll start to go through fall lines next week, picking which ones she wants to carry.

Clary tells Izzy about our date earlier today and the way she describes it makes my heart warm. I love this girl so much, sometimes it surprises me—scares me.

I've never really felt this way about anyone. I thought I'd felt love before but this trumps whatever that was. This takes the cake for sure.

I think back to my phone call with Jordan this evening. How I had been so nervous for this date. I had been sweating and pacing, my mind had been racing. I was doing that nervous thinking thing I did where my mind ran through every possible thing that could go wrong about the entire evening.

Jordan helped. He sat and listened as I talked through every reason I could list as to why I loved Clary. Why I found myself so crazy in love with Clary. He told me that when I saw her, I'd be okay.

And I was.

The moment she opened her door and I saw her beautiful freckled face, I was settled. My whole body just calmed. Seeing her was like a reminder that everything would be okay.

And God, seeing her in that dress didn't hurt either. The dress combined with her beauty combined with the flower laurel I made in the car—she looked like a goddess. I eye her as she speaks with Izzy.

Her face, I don't even know how, but it's _glowing_. Like straight up. Her cheekbones have a shimmer on them that is amplified by the light of the slow setting sun. The twinkles in her eyes are like the will o the wisps fleeting through forest floors. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

And the orange glow of the sky is heating the planes of her delicate arms and the darkness is pooling in her collarbone and _god_, I'm in love with this girl. She smiles at something Simon says and I could honestly just melt into nothing right here.

She catches me staring again and flushes with a shy smile. I watch her as she inconspicuously swats her napkin off the table and onto the floor. She motions with her head ever so slightly as she looks at me, like she's giving me some kind of signal. I follow her lead and bend over as if to grab the napkin just as she does the same.

"You have got to stop staring at me," she whispers once we are out of view of Simon and Izzy.

"I can't help it," I whisper back. "You look so stunning." Her cheeks heat again and she gives me a pointed look. "Your collarbone looks tantalizing," I say with a lazy smile.

"My _collarbone_, Jace?" her whispers are growing sharper. "You're going all goo-goo eyes at me over my _collarbone?"_

"I can't help what parts of your body my body finds amazing," I whisper exasperatedly. She's acting as if I have a say in the matter. "_Besides_," I say, as if it's supposed to help my case, "as collarbones go, you have a particularly nice one." She rolls her eyes. "And it is making me think entirely unclean thoughts about the rest of you."

She looks as if she wants to roll her eyes again, but bites her lip instead. She squints as if measuring me up. When she sees I'm serious, she flushes deep red. "You are so unfair to me," she says. I look at her shocked. "Now I have to sit for the rest of this godforsaken meal and pretend I haven't heard that, because _otherwise _it's going to distract me all night and I-"

She's interrupted by a loud fake-cough from Isabelle. "You guys doing okay over there?" she asks all-knowingly. "Seems like it's taking an awfully long time for two people to pick up one napkin."

"Be right there!" Clary calls from our bent-over spot near the floor. She directs her attention back towards me. "I'm going to make your life a living hell for that, Wayland."

"Oh yeah?" I reply. "Try me." And she does. Subtly.

At first I don't really notice. It's so masterful. But after a few minutes of Clary running her fingers up and down the plane of her arm and dipping them down into her collarbone or stroking down between the valley in her chest, it becomes clear.

It's so subtle. But god damn if it isn't effective. I smile when I first notice it—the way her eyes so purposefully never look into mine. Until they do—and her gaze is hooded and she blinks slowly and lazily at me and her lashes are fluttering and it's all sultry gazes and freckles and traveling fingers until her eyes sweep past mine to look at Izzy when poof! it's all gone. Like magic.

It takes me a breath and a half to reset my thoughts.

And you know what? Fine. If she wants to play the sexual tension game, so be it. She should have known though that I would find a way to beat her.

I lift my champagne flute and bring it to my lips. As I take a sip I turn toward Izzy and flex my jaw, so my jawline will be extra pronounced from the side.

I see in her eyes the moment she realizes what it is I'm doing. One eye squints slightly but she smirks nonetheless. _Game on_, her expression says. And that's how it really starts—a war of sexual tension. She licks her lips painstakingly slowly, I unbutton my shirt an inch. I muss up my hair a bit, she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. The fleeting glances we share grow a little bit longer each time and the theatrics grow a little bit less faked.

By the time the entrees are finished it's less of a game and more a desperate way to relieve frustration. God her lips are so plump and beautiful. Her eyes are practically smoldering and the way her hair is falling and _ugh_, that _collarbone_. I could honestly just rip that dress off of her and—

"Okay, I know you guys have waited like months for this or whatever," Izzy says, startling me once more from my reverie, "but could you at least wait until you get home to bone each other? You both look like you're going to implode and honestly, I'm trying to eat. I mean, good god, there are children here."

Leave it to Izzy to be the brutally honest one. Clary laughs and hides her face behind her hands. As much as I wish Izzy's comments would break whatever spell we're both under, unfortunately they don't. They definitely put a damper on the mood, but the undercurrent of sexual tension doesn't dissipate and I'm still practically drooling—albeit less obviously.

Sion and Izzy split a slice of coconut cake for dessert and Clary and I opt for a tiramisu. Dessert arrives just as the last of the sun disappears over the horizon. The roof is bathed in the hazy blue of twilight for a few seconds before the fairy lights embedded in the ivy glow to life. The result is a gauzy, dreamlike light swathed over our own little secluded world.

I offer Clary a forkful of tiramisu and she opens her mouth to accept. She closes her lips around the fork and pulls back slowly, taking the tiramisu with her. When the fork slips past her lips she gives me a small smile and looks up at me through thick lashes. And good lord if the whole scene doesn't have me practically groaning.

"Okay it's my turn-" Simon interjects, "now that's just gross."

I expect Clary to flush again, but instead she just quirks her shoulders up and down unapologetically. And if I weren't already in love with this girl, that alone would have pushed me over the edge.

"Alright, I have to get out of here before my eyes melt out of their sockets," Isabelle says as she flags down the waiter. Clary and I share conspiratorial giggles. Fucking giggles.

The waiter approaches and Izzy asks for the check. "Hey, Iz," I say, holding out a hand as well, "I'll pick this one up. Honestly, it's the least I could do."

She argues with me for a moment over who's going to be the one to pay until the waiter interrupts us. "Actually, your meal has already been paid for." This stuns us all into silence for a moment.

"Damiano, that bastard," Isabelle hisses. "How am I supposed to support his new restaurant if he's paying for all my food?"

A voice floats from behind our chairs in response to her rhetorical question, "Just by bringing your beautiful selves inside," Damiano says.

We all turn to Damiano and thank him profusely. "Really, it was my pleasure. I loved getting to see all your beautiful faces—yours especially, Isabelle. It really had been too long."

"Well, let's make sure we don't go so long apart again any time soon," she replies, squeezing his hand. We all stand and push in our chairs and take turns shaking Damiano's hand or giving him one-armed hugs.

When finally we begin to walk towards the stairs I reach over and take Clary's hand in mine. Just like in fairy tales, electric energy courses from her hand to mine the moment they touch. All the sexual tension that was built over the course of the meal comes rushing back to the forefront and suddenly it's like we can't get to the car fast enough. We tell Simon and Izzy we'll be in touch and then it's like a mad race for Clary's Volvo. She climbs into the passenger seat and I into the driver's and before I even have time to breathe her hands are on my shoulders pulling me closer.

We're like a mad clashing of lips and teeth and shoulders. Clary's hands are on my cheeks pulling my mouth to hers. Our kisses are fast and heated and desperate and _hungry_. One of her hands snakes its way back to grip the nape of my neck and she pulls me closer, as if there's any way for me to get closer than I already am. She guides my mouth from hers down to her jaw. I plant hot languid kisses from her jaw up to her earlobe and then down her neck to her shoulder. Her breaths are coming in heavy and her skin is so soft and vaguely salty and good god if I don't breathe I'm going to pass out. I pull away to breathe and look right in her green eyes. She bites her lip slowly and runs her hands up and down my scalp, mussing up my hair to the point of no return.

Her gaze is hooded and the fleeting light is casting soft shadows over her face and her chest is rising and falling with her breath and God I want her so bad. The distance between us is so small and yet too great so I reach over the center console and grab her waist.

"Watch your head," I whisper as I lift her by the waist over the center console and down onto my lap. She rests her back against the steering wheel as her legs fit themselves around mine.

When she kisses me this time everything goes quiet like the moment of silence between lightning and thunder. She pulls back slightly and we share heavy breaths. _One. two. Three. Four. Five. _

The next kiss is the crack of thunder the sky had been waiting for. It's dark and deep and rumbles over everything it reaches. She's everywhere—up my back and over my arms and suddenly she's kissing me harder, deeper, with a fervent urgent need I've never known before.

The way she kisses me now, it's like every other kiss in my life has been wrong.

My hands run down her back to cup her rear and pull her closer. Her nose is running along the side of mine and the tendrils of hair that had fallen away from her updo tickle my cheeks.

She shifts herself up further in my lap then tugs on the lapels of my jacket impatiently. Catching her message I lean forward slightly to shrug it off with some difficulty. Clary fists the top of my shirt and literally _rips_ the top few buttons open so she can run her hands down my chest. Everywhere she touches she leaves goosebumps in her wake.

Clary shifts back onto her legs to lean back and breathe. It gives me the opportunity I've been looking for to finally get some revenge on that god forsaken collarbone of hers.

But before I can, we both jump out of our skin at the sound of the car loudly honking. Clary jolts. She literally jumps out of my lap from the shock and hits her head against the roof of the car. "Ow," she cries, reaching a hand to rub her head but she's already dissolving into giggles. The sight of it all leaves me laughing too as Clary settles back down into my lap and rests the crown of her head against my chest.

I circle my arms around her back and hold her closer to me. "Are you okay?" I ask just for the sake of asking. She nods her head slowly against my chest. I can feel her smile against my skin and it makes me smile too.

"More than okay," she whispers. She looks up and bites her lip. "But I'm glad for the interruption," she admits. "The momentum was building, if you know what I mean. And, hot as that was, in not sure I want our first time together to be in the drivers seat of my Volvo. And I'm pretty sure that's the only place this was headed."

I laugh at the truth in her words. "I guess you're right. Let's say you and I head back to my place, light some candles, and try to pick up where we left off."

Clary smiles widely. "I think I'd like that very much, Jace Wayland."

With some help, Clary climbs back over to the passenger seat (it was a lot easier in the heat of the moment) and I fish the keys out of my pocket.

I turn the key to start the car and

_click click click. _

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no," Clary says and tosses her head into her hands.

I try it again, hoping it was some kind of fluke.

_click click click click click. _

"The battery's dead," I say.

"Well thanks for that wonderful observation, Captain Obvious," Clary replies.

"Well you don't have to get snippy, I'll just call Simon and Iz."

"You can't do that!" Clary says.

"Why not?"

"Because they left ten minutes ago! They're probably halfway back to Simon's by now gearing up to do the exact same thing we were just doing." She has a point. "_And_, I don't want them to know that we didn't have the self control to wait until we were home like they did!" Again, she has a point. Izzy would never let me live it down.

I don't have any ideas, so we sit in the silence for a moment. "You know," Clary says, interrupting the quiet, "it's really not that far a walk. And it is a beautiful night."

So Clary swaps out her dainty heels for a pair of chucks and has me tie the bottom of her skirt up into a knot mid calf before we lock the Volvo and start our trek home.

And she's right. It is a beautiful night. We spend the whole walk talking and laughing. Laughing at each other and our predicament and Simon's band proposal and the amount of gel in Damiano's hair ("It was like Danny Zuko was serving us hors d'oeuvres," Clary said).

What we had both assumed to be not too long a walk, somehow became a very long walk. We had already been walking half an hour, taking in the scenic downtown, when we hit the waterfront.

"It hadn't really dawned on me that we hadn't reached the river yet," Clary said. And it hadn't dawned on me either. We were only about a third of the way home.

But that was okay. We stopped for a while to rest our feet and look out at all the lights gleaming across the Willamette. "You know what I find so beautiful?" Clary whispered to me through the blue light of the city night.

"You mean besides me?" I teased.

She threaded her fingers through mine before answering even quieter than before, "Each of those lights is a story. It's a couple brushing their teeth together or an old man playing with his dog or a family eating dessert."

We were both silent for a moment until Clary continued, "Each of those lights, those stories, those people, are sharing their light with someone they love. And Jace," Clary said, squeezing my hand and looking from the lights up to my eyes, "I love you. I'm glad I get to share my light with you."

"You make it really hard for me to not kiss you twenty-four-seven," I said and cradled her cheek in my hand. She leaned into the touch.

"I'm not really seeing any opposition right now…" Clary said and bit her lip softly.

So I kissed her. With the Willamette River flowing beneath us and the stars twinkling above us, I kissed her. Her mouth was sweet and warm and made me feel like I was nestled somewhere between chaos and comfort. Every moment with Clary was a new thrill, a new adventure, even when it was all familiar.

She made all the old feel new again.

And God, I loved her.

* * *

"I don't think I've been this tired in a long time," I said when we trudged up the last few steps to our adjacent doors.

"It was a long day. Lots of walking," Jace said in response. And it was. The hike up Multnomah Falls feels like years ago, but it was only this afternoon.

"I'm too tired for what I planned to be doing this evening…" I say somewhat boldly. Jace tries to act cool but I see him blush the smallest bit. It's like being together turns us into fumbling teenagers again. I can't describe it. "So, I guess this is where I say goodnight?" I lean up and give Jace a short but sweet kiss. When I pull away he lingers, as if he doesn't want to let me go.

"Clary, I had the best time tonight. Today, in fact. This was the best first and second date I've ever had. It just left me wanting more. More time with you. More of your smiles, your kisses. It's like you have me under some sort of spell, but I'm loving every second of it."

"Jace,you have it all turned around. I feel the exact same way about you. And now you have to let me go inside before I do something stupid that I _know_ I'm too tired for," I say. God, how did I end up with the perfect boyfriend?

I turn my keys in the door and start to crack it open when Jace says, "Clary, wait. I know you're too tired but would you maybe just come sleep with me?" He shakes his head, "I mean, will you just come and sleep in my bed. With me. Not sleep with me but sleep. With me." He's getting flustered and I can't help but smile. "I just—I just want to be close to you. I love you so much and I've had the time of my life all day and I can't bear the thought of putting that wall between us again. I just want to hold you. But most of all I want to wake up tomorrow morning with you in my arms."

"God, you big sap. Okay! Okay. What kind of monster would I have to be to say no to that?" I say to hide the fact that my heart just shattered from overload into adorable little pieces.

And the look on Jace's face is like a little kid on Christmas fucking morning. "You're going to be the death of me, Jace Wayland."

When our teeth are brushed and our pajamas are on (return of the Dunder Mifflin t-shirt has arrived) and we're snuggled under Jace's forty pound duvet, I thought I would fall right asleep.

But instead I find myself somehow too tired to sleep. I'm suddenly more restless than I've ever been. I toss and turn trying to find a comfortable spot until I feel Jace's large warm hand snake it's way across my belly. He palms my stomach and pulls me until I'm curved into his body, the little spoon to his big spoon.

"You have to stop squirming, you're driving me crazy. Cute crazy, but sill crazy," he mumbles into my hair.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, "I just can't sleep."

"What's your favorite color?"

"What?" I ask. It's so out of the blue.

"We'll talk until you fall asleep. What's your favorite color?"

"Yellow," I answer automatically. It's always been my favorite, as long as I can remember. "What's yours?"

"Grey," he responds.

"Grey's a _shade, _dumbshit," I tell him. "Pick another."

"Well excuse me, Ms. Color Theorist. I guess my favorite is actually green."

I hum. "Like the forests? All the Doug Firs and pines?"

He _mhmm_s into my hair. "And your eyes."

He says it so matter-of-factly their I have to twist out of his chest to look at him and see if he's joking. He's not. I trace the bow of his lips with my finger as my cheeks heat up. "You're so…" I can't even find the word.

"Incorrigible?"

"Perfect," I settle for, even though it's not quite enough. He leans his head down to kiss me. It warms my whole body.

"If you could have any superpower what would it be? Mine would almost certainly be flight. I've always wanted to fly," he says. I scoot back into my previous position: nestled against his chest.

"I would want that power that just let's you steal everyone else's powers. I feel like that would be pretty cool."

"I feel like that's kind of cheating," Jace says.

"I don't make the rules; I just take advantage of the lack of them," I tell him.

We go on like that, asking stupid, meaningless questions and trying to outwit each other with our answers. Jace is so warm all around me, his chest against my back and his palm against my tummy. He makes me feel safe.

And in the dark of his bedroom with the moon peeking through the window and his warmth all around me, our words and giggles filling the air. When he laughs, it rumbles in his chest and I can feel it in my whole body. The planes of Jace's chest are firm but comfortable: inviting and warm. And the hand he had rested over my stomach he pulled back to my hip and now sat tracing lazy circles around m hip bone with his thumb.

I feel out of time with him, like we're in our own separate sphere of existence where mundane things like the passing of time can't reach us. We could be anywhere in time and space.

And as such, I'm not sure how much time really passes before he drops the heavier question.

"Do you ever feel alone? Like even when you're with other people?" he asks next. I grab his hand from my hip and hold it in my own while I mull over the question. I know my answer immediately, it just takes me a minute to phrase it properly.

"Yes," I say. "It's like my mind would zoom out of where I am. Even if I had just been laughing and talking with a big group of friends, suddenly it's like my brain remembers they can't make up for the fact that I"m still alone. It used to be worse, before I met you. I never really feel alone with you."

"Me too," Jace says. "For me it's like all the warmth just kind of whooshes out of me and I feel really old for a little while. But that's why I like being with you. You're so full of life, you're like my own personal sun. I always feel warm and whole when I'm with you," he says and pulls me in closer to him. I breathe in deeply.

I debate asking him the question that's been gnawing at me for weeks. Ever since he said it, I've wanted to ask what he meant. But I know whatever the answer is, it willl be a lot for him to get out and a lot for me to take in. But, if I could shoulder just a piece of whatever burden he carries with him, even for a moment, I know it will all be worth it.

"Jace?" he hums. "Can I ask you something?" he mumbles an affirmation. "Why are you afraid of thunder?" I hear him suck in a sharp breath. "That night in the bathtub that feels like a lifetime ago—you said you're afraid of thunder because it reminds you of a bad memory."

We sit in silence and I honestly can't tell if he's going to answer. He knows he doesn't have to if he really doesn't want to. I would absolutely respect that. But I worry that it's something that he shouldn't bottle up. I want to be there for him no matter what.

"It reminds me of gunshots." The simple sentence hits my chest like a ton of bricks. Jace continues, practically choking on his words. "Someone close to me shot at me when I was eleven years old. He missed, thank God. But when he snapped out of it, he shot himself in the end." His voice sounds light years away and I squeeze his hand. When he continues, his voice is only a faraway whisper. "I watched the only person I had left die, and there was nothing I could do about it." I imagine eleven-year-old Jace tear-stained and shell shocked and more than anything _alone._

I still have a million questions. There's so much more I want to know, want to ask. But I know better than to try. This is too touchy, too painful a subject. So I do the only thing I really know how, right now. "Jace," I say, "he may have left you, but I won't. Never again. I love you."

And to prove my point, I raise my hand above my head and knock lightly on the wall above the headboard. Jace's eyes focus back in as he gives me the tiniest of smiles. He lifts his arm and does the same.

"Goodnight, Clary," Jace whispers and encircles me in his arms. And like that, with my cheek pressed against the warm plane of his chest and his strong arms around me, I fall fast asleep.

* * *

I was expecting for the nightmares to return after opening that floodgate with Clary, even as slightly as I tried to. I hadn't had a nightmare in months-not since Jordan was here, actually, when I heard Clary screaming through the wall. It was as if we were connected somehow, even then, as if her nightmare had set off mine.

The memories I have of that night are unpleasant-that recurring dream of my mother lying unseeing at my feet, birds picking at her eyes. Only that time it hadn't been Mother. It had been Clary, as if some part of me knew even then how much I loved her, how much pain that scene would cause me.

I was expecting for the nightmares to return. But somehow, likely because of Clary lying in my arms, they stayed away. I woke feeling light and refreshed and _ready_. For what, I didn't know. I just knew I could tackle it.

I also woke with hair in my mouth and my legs tangled up with someone else's. And yet it was quite possibly the happiest if been in a long time.

Clary's body was warm and soft pressed against mine and the rise and fall of her chest was like a comforting rhythm.

She inhaled and rolled over slowly, until she was facing toward me. Her nose was small and slightly upturned, giving it the cutest arch. Her lashes were red-brown and long. I hadn't noticed how long they were before. But now, they brushed against her cheeks delicately.

Everything about Clary seemed delicate from the outside. She seemed like a fragile bird, as if with one wayward glance she might snap. But I knew better. I knew that despite what she may look like, her personality was strong enough to best anyone. She was smart and funny and loyal and never afraid to speak up. And on top of it all she had a heart of gold. One that I find myself falling and sinking deeper and deeper into everyday.

I thought about the last time Clary slept in this bed. Of course then I didn't have the luxury of waking up next to her. I'd slept on the couch to give her space.

So much had changed since then. But we were still us. Despite it all, the heartbreak and the longing and now the love, we're still us.

I wanted to sit in the lazy sunlight and count the freckles that danced on her face like the dust motes in the air. And I would have. All day. But she stirred, first inhaling deeply. Her eyes screwed tight before her lashes fluttered against her face and opened. I watched as she drank in the room and then turned her head and locked eyes with mine across the pillows. She bit her lip and the wide smile that slowly spread across her face was like liquid gold.

"Morning," she said. And God, I loved that girl.

* * *

**that's the longest chapter i've ever uploaded! hope you enjoyed :) **

**also ya (probably not) fave fanfic author is a Legal Adult now so that's cool!**

**also I KNOW i switch tenses alL THE TIME I'M SORRY I'M SO TERriBLE**

**PLEASE let me know what you think! I'll love you lots!**

**-kate**


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